they walked,
impressed.
as i watched them,
i opened my chest.

Crimson red with a dash of white
Sherry paints the falling leaves outside
Let me watch
From a distant room
All the light pours in
Through the window frame
It’s a shame -- all those tired
Hours while she slaves away

Mom pretends to leave her be
But she sees everything
Sherry sighs and hides her piece
All the while, the refrigerator remains
Empty

Well, your masterpiece ain’t good
But you couldn’t see what I could
Every stroke has a part of you that leaves
Impressions on the canvas and a stain upon the wooden frame

But I know we can be giants
We can wish on the dandelions
In the field where we played as kids
The ones who knew the simple joys in life

The past few weeks I’ve been
Re-reading the novel we wrote together.
And I haven’t decided
What the ending means just yet.

But I prefer the lives of the characters,
Because when things get tough
I can just go back.
And revisit the last few chapters
(Back when things were good),
Soon finding the strength to smile again.

Well, I already know how the story goes.
But I keep turning, hoping for a different ending.
A drum desperately pounds,
Headed straight towards tragedy.

The faded words are bleeding deep.
The ink will form tattoos on our bodies,
Cover the places no one else dared touch before.
They stain our skin and form new scars.

Last night I dreamt of your betrayal,
Just to wake up and remember it all over again.
Only to realize
That none of it ever even happened.