I feel like covering myself in paint,
always falling for the ones who's colors' faint.
Something about how my canvas attracts the polish of your brush,
at first stroke you offer blue, a fresh coat of something new.
We dance in red, nothing needing to be said.
Pretending that you're different and you care,
submitting my canvas use, I'm the cause of my own abuse.
Eventually the strokes of blush stop, a masterpiece I have discovered not.
So many hopes that these colors will be true,
but again my tears dye blue.
I watch shadows come and go,
I watch time pass through my window glass.
I say hello and goodbye with the same lipstick,
I barely had it, how can I miss it?
Maybe if my canvas was stronger and the fabric harder,
The paint would stick a little longer.
I felt the rain tonight and now my colors' bleeding,
I tell myself it wasn't because you were leaving.
The water drips so quietly,
I ask myself, why me?
I slit the canvas with care,
as if you were behind it...
but honestly, you were never their.