I paint a picture.
"Quite beautiful," I mutter to myself
Tears rolling down my cheeks.
The picture cries with me
Its ruby tears rolling down.

My brush glints in the sunlight
Rusty and stained as always.
My canvas filled with other paintings.
Some not even a day old.
I wipe the red tears and wrap it.

My brain says to stop this horrible painting
but my heart refuses.
It's gone through too much.
It wants to let it all go with these paintings.
These horrible, scarring, painful, disgusting paintings.