Painting
            every
                     nook
                        every
                     hue
                of a
         water
drop.
Once done all in all
there was still a sea
     in the whole!

i'm trying to paint away the sadness
one color at a time.

i paint
bright kaleidoscopic skies
strong, swaying trees
a brave blue wave
a million pretty pastel floral arrangements

but none of them can cover up
the blues of my sadness.
the reds of my anger.
the black to blue to purple to yellow-greens of my bruises.

i still try to paint away the sadness
one color at a time
until the scenes i paint on pages
become the ones in my real life.

I want you to be the paint that drips on my canvas
our bodies brush to create something beautiful

The boy you loved drowned

Drowns every day
But he hasn’t come back
(He always does)
Maybe won’t
The icy shoreline whispers
“And if he doesn’t?”

He will
He has too

You don’t want to think about it

It whispers a lot to you
In the quiet moments like this
Before he comes back
Like
“What’s the point?”
(You say that this is the only way you’ll fix him)
“And what about yourself?”
(You say that you’re not the one drowning)
“You’re choking on paint again”
It says
And

You are
Dripping down your lips, cold like blood isn’t, not the right shade
Too chalky
Hardening in your lungs, but you missed a spot
So you drink another coat down

It stops talking
And the boy you love washes up on the shoreline
So you wring the blood of his lungs
Set a fire in his heart

And try again

A Story of guilt.
Not for him, for us.
Vincent.

Strokes and flicks,
Glides of guilded golds
Hushed in the Blues,
Innocence in the Greens;
Boldly infused oils
Spilling out on a canvas;
A legacy built on
Sorrow. Toil. Turmoil.
Who with dark indents on a page shaded in
Shadows showed
Work. Work, work,
Constant work.
A Starry Night’s muse.
All the while cowards saying they always
Knew,
Always loved,
Always loving
Vincent.

Paint me a picture
Of your skin
Does it bronze beneath the sun?
Or sizzle and blush
Like your cheeks
When you’re in love?
Is it soft to the touch
Like when your palms graze
The smooth surface of water?
Or rough around the edges
Like your favorite book
And its lovingly worn corners?
Does it melt in the heat
Like sweet syrupy treats
Dripping through your fingers?
Or does it welcome the winter
With wide open arms
As if greeting a lover?
Paint me a picture
Of your skin

I ate the yellow paint to make me happy.
I want to smile again
The people around me were worried about my colour lacking face.
So every morning, as the sun rose, I drowned my unsaid words in yellow paint. The colour was brought back to my cheeks, and everyone said that i was glowing.
I started eating the yellow paint day and night, to brighten my dreams. Yellow paint for breakfast lunch and dinner.
No one complained.
Except for my stomach, lungs and heart.
The yellow paint made my outside looks better, but slowly destroyed my inside. You see, yellow paint is poison, no matter how bright.
So it slowly killed me, but everyone said I looked alright.