there’s this constant pain
on the left side of my chest
monotonous and never ending
soft but deadly

i feel it when i wake up
when i am about to drink my tea
when i watch the roses fade
when i lay awake at night

since you are gone
this pain has kept me whole
been my friend
my lover and my ex
never truly leaving
but never truly returning

the pain is beautiful
i suppose
because after all
it lets me feel something
inside this endless void

it rythms with my heart
paints your soul
it is the pain i pay
for loving you so

You are the color of a kiss,
passionate and complex;
A cold, tall glass of water
just after you've had ***

You are the color of a road trip,
with windows down and sunnies on.
The color of a love ballad,
or a fulfilling and perfect yawn

You are the color of a silk petal,
floating to the Earth,
A limited edition coin
and all that it is worth.

You are the color of adventure,
and freshly baked apple pie;
The color of snowfall on your face,
drifting down from the night sky

You are the color of paints
that stores just do not sell;
A sit-in or a marching protest,
fervent and raising hell.

You are the color of the strength
that arises with the dawn;
And when a king is overtaken
by a simple little pawn.

You are the colors found in everything:
extraordinary, nonetheless,
But more than all of that combined,
a fact I must confess;
You are the color of love and life,
with all that magic you possess.




- t.s.

Listen please,
  I hear the call
As the paint drips
  From the wall and
Onto the floor.

We are redecorating
Only, we are temporary
As we splatter
To get out the past.
  But hey, I like
  This color
As my hands are
Coated with some
  Thick lacquer
That holds my nails
And wrinkles of my skin.

This hue will go well
With what we don’t have
As the brush smears
The globs
Of pastel
And wipes out
The wallpaper,
Of the previous owner.
Layered away
We discolor,
In layers we
Bury them.

my mind is a house of colors
the walls are splattered in paint
i’ve hung up diamond chandeliers
translucent—glimmering in the moonlight
splattering rainbows across the walls
maybe the paint is a figment of my imagination.

my mind is a killer whale
treading the dark foaming waters of the ocean
the great whites mock me
the great whites are listening.
i hide in the sea kelp of the great blue deep
the midnight shadows of the witching hour
caress my fins like wet rolling tapestries
endless movement
endless running waves
racing like my own heartbeat
thumping like the longest drum line

my mind is a hollow cave
humid, wet, dripping water from limestone formations
strange echoes from within its depths
i can never understand the muffled whispers
but though they petrify others
they soothe me.
i have turned to salt rock
from all the untrue words my tongue has spoken
bitter, like salt on a lime
but delicious

my mind is a dusty attic
rustic and beautiful to the creative eye
it has become an art room
with a canvas stand in the corner
and paint splattered across the dark wooden floorboards
misshapen ceilings
beautiful arcs and painted glass windows
a pretty little white picket fencing
the mailman is sleepwalking

my mind is a dream
but i’m all too awake
and i’m unsure
as to whether or not
i’m living a nightmare

visage on mirror
rembrandt could have painted this
sheer cloth, bare body

He lives through his sketches,
surviving on frugal meals,
mostly bread and wine.

Night and day,
are melancholic mirrors,
for him.

He trespasses them,
ignoring the sense of time,
to create a vortex of visions.

Countless albino butterflies,
now bathe in his color palette,

Color-Soaked wings,
now seek the blank canvas,

A Kamikaze of hues is imminent,
for this art to strive
and for the artist to escape,
the meddling reality.