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sunshine Nov 2019
if feeling could write,

if emotions could paint,

we'd all be drowning

in acrylic and ink
not that you'd
ever read this but
I hope you do

Arisa Mar 2019
I paint the picture with pastel colors.
Dotting the sky in pink clouds
While the horizon lay in an amber slumber.
A single pine tree slanted towards the crystal lake;
I draw another for companionship.
And it soon blooms into a forest
With shrubs and blackberry bushes and ferns,
Then I make a ripple in the lake
With leaves that drift along the gentle current
To the farther edges of the tender loch.

I envisioned the clear waters of the wetlands
As I cleaned my pallet and washed away the paint,
Like how painting landscapes washed away my worries.
I'm sure you saw a completely different image to what I actually painted. You are such a unique, beautiful creature.
Zeyea Jul 2018
sometimes she daydreams about life the way i do about death. it's ironic, i know: black and white aren't meant to be grey and the rumbling hum of expletives digging into mauve lips pass through like desaturated light to translucent statures. it makes everything seem sweeter than it looks. she thinks the ache feels lukewarm, just like those half-hearted smiles she gives out like presents on a holiday, and she may be right. pain is not cold, it covers your entire heart with microwaved fingers, leaving burn marks that leave chars and ashes. snaps the purple heartstrings and clumsily tries to mend it.

(i love you because you're corporeal, she murmurs, you keep me sane)

she's spider-webbed, sung gossamer and silk while her bar lines drip with ink. and she seems moonstruck—because of me she says and blooms throughout my epiphanies. fancies herself a ghost, a wisp, something ethereal that lingers on my lips like a kiss. and she lingers, oh she does. toppling from the skies and collapsing into my rib-cage, she stays, blushing rose-like and thriving. velvet and constellations of blood clots patter against her skin. it blooms like she blooms, a paint splattered canvas meant for all to see.
Kewayne Wadley Apr 2018
She covered me in paint.
Filling me with her outlook.
Standing there drenched we both laughed.
Her hands covered in acrylic.
She fed me apple sauce browns and pepperoni reds.
Banana cream tans as well as blueberry blues.
Her thoughts covered me in taste.
Hands warm to the touch.
Covered in paint I was identical to all her favorite things.
I became the table which she viewed the world.
Splashed in infatuation
Addison René Dec 2014
drag your ****** lips along my skin
and paint me pictures
with your mouth
on the canvas of my body
paint us lying in lust
paint us in slow motion
with love in our irises
paint the sky on my hands
and the clouds on yours
place your paintbrush along the curve of my thigh,
kiss my flushed lips with yours,
give them color;
red with resilience
red with anguish,
the fires in our chests
have ravaged our fibers
and our atoms have come undone
the very being of our existence
has unraveled
in synchronicity
drag your ****** lips across my skin
on the canvas of my body.
brush your acrylic blood
in the crevices of my anatomy
*paint a portrait of  you and me

— The End —