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.

Lost child of a lost childhood
Built up by broken frames
Bloodied knuckles and his bully's bruises
Turned his whole life into a mere game

He turns up the flirty attitude
To mask the anger within
His mom ran off with another suitor
While he's left cleaning after her sins

But tonight he wears her sins as a tie
To match the heavy demons weighing him down
He makes his way across the floor
Picking up a drink to change his frown

All the giggly desperates crowd him instantly
He proceeds to exchanges a smirk or two
Yet across the room he sees a flash of grey
And finds his next prey to woo

grey;
air
lungs
hands
toes
hair
teeth
eyes
the light is gone the fun has rotted
now all that is left is grey

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.