And I shall paint dreams to match my life
in a majestic landscape,
where dancing steps move below sunlit sky.

Where birds feathers become my brush
and breath the power to guide canvas-like path.

Where Michelangelo will take notice
from heavens gate and celebrated
with thunderous applaud.

I shall paint my dreams into reality
upon canvas of self.
Where words become my pigment
of choice and canvas stretched with song.

Where airbrush of inhales align
with present moment to expand creative mind.

Where every evolving masterpiece is observed
by others in my walk of life so many smile
and perhaps send a like.

Where my paintbrush becomes
poets pen and ink color to touch page.

Yes, I shall paint with force
to launch a thousand dreams.
Won’t you join me in my
walking museum called life?

Though they outsource manufacturing,
The major profit stays within the nation.

Micromax Canvas Infinity is definitively a great device.

Madness tip toes
Ripping my brain through an eye socket
As its placed in the blender
My memories churn
Feelings splatter on the walls
Every thought I've ever had
Or ever will
Shredded and sprayed
As a ******* piece on display
You gaze at my wonders
My life
Sliding down every crevasse
Just to walk away
Unscathed from the beautiful mess
I sit in silence, a hollow shell
Only to look upon my life
As it was meant to be
A work of art

My colors are drained,
No stronger mourning than rain
Canvas fogged with pain.

She was a monochromatic artist,
She carried grey on her brushes,
Grey on her canvas.

Years had passed,
painting the grey,
Until she met him,
on a casual day.
He asked for her art,
red engulfed her face.
She handed it over,
Felt her heart race.

As he painted atop,
her plain, grey work,
She noticed his quiver,
his subtle quirk.
He shook with excitement,
for what he created.
The strokes of his brush,
what they effectively stated.

The canvas flooded with color,
vibrant blue and red.
What once was just grey,
was every color instead.
He shared his paint,
and together they painted.
Hours, days, weeks, months,
they were quickly acquainted.

It soon became time,
to get on his way.
He packed up his paints,
left the next day.
Soon after he left,
her work began to fade.
What was once turquoise and magenta,
again became stone grey.

She carried grey on her brushes,
Grey on her canvas.
She was a monochromatic artist.

That day you picked up that paint brush,
and splattered all of the blacks,
the grays,
the blues all over me.
You painted until there was none of me left,
I was completely covered,
but see you thought you were simply protecting me from you
when in reality you were ruining
me.
and I wasn't going to stop you.