You were a Rembrandt on the subway train.
Critiques of art would surely say
The canvas of your worldview
Rivaled masters in their day.

You were a tour de force of heavy strokes
That rendered my depiction feeble.
Your lambent eyes and lightning skies --
Why hurricanes are named for people.

To you, I was a peculiar stranger
Leering through the morning rush.
Admiring your impassioned presence,
Your steady hand and vital brush.

~
O Painter
with thy own eye
                        would thee
paint me in mine own natural hue
prithee paint me as i am,
imperfections
            and blemishes true

Load thy brush
                      with colors sundry
to maketh yond first pure sweep
across the ****** frieze,
fill'd with pangs of hunger.
paint me as i standeth
                  bethought, in deep

With mine own love and mine own desire,
blurring the edges unclean
with mine own regrets
                  and mine own mental gyre,
in mine own natural age,
               of deep forest green

O Painter
Paint me sinister turquoise,
in lavender and maroon,
combine the amethyst and amber
blend the iceberg
       and the indigo moon.

Paint me as i standeth,
       prithee see with thy eye
a mistress in yond lady plight
Prithee paint me all i am
i cullionly
a mistress in all yond lady might

Paint me in the optimistic
                             silv'r of dawn,
but don’t miss the purple
to shade the bruise
                              of the bygone.
paint me in the sky blue journal

O Painter
Paint me as a unique template
smudge black white and grizzled
merging all the colors of thy palette.
col'r me a rainbow
                            in a rainy drizzle

Paint me tall so yond i standeth
loftier than any mountain
Paint me as a dram bird, delicate
with soft feathers silken

Paint me harmony, as a violin
so yond i can sing thy solitary tune
paint me as thy poetry
         with song and melody
wrapp'd in a cocoon

O Painter
paint me as a dream yond rises
                               in did saturate colors
with a steady upbeat flight awry
tint, a fluttering
             of a quite quaint butterfly

Portray me with endurance
imbue so bold and bright
doth not hesitate
                to depict mine own mind
in profound fuchsia and white.

Useth the colors yond thee would borrow
Thy palette not yet exsufflicate
Paint mine own loss and mine own sorrow
in search of a shade so ******

Adorn mine own heart in glowing garnet
at which hour thee paint mine own love
add a true broken blue shade
of the cloud and the rain above;

Study mine own dry sorrow
                              in mine own soul
useth any shade thee plaited
soften the edges of control
in a tinge of xanthene.

O Painter
Prithee paint me
Mine own passion and mine own spirit
shall has't a crimson r'd hint
mine own remorse and mine own regret
shall reflect an ink stain print

Paint me in mine own eye so true
O Painter
but add a dash of courage too
~

Stepping through
come along
with the light
spring paintings.

Time slips by
framed
with the vivid
saturated films.

The void you left
was filled
with the best
sad stories.

Your being
Is art.

Lost in the illusion
Of this painting they called life,
A small girls sits shivering
In the corner of her bathroom floor
...
Inside of this masterpiece
The girl paints more of just that,
Her tears watercolors on the canvas
Of the tiles lining the bathroom floor
...
These tiles now cold and hard
Eating away like acid on her cool flesh,
The comfort of the childhood memories
All washed away from within the walls
That once gave her peace of mind.
Bubble baths turned to ****** ones
As she brings her art to life
...
The words thrown at her
Outside of the world in her bathroom
Now painted red in bold font
Inside a canvas unseen
By anyone but the bitter ghost
Left to rot in the corners of the stone walls
Under the bubbles of the water
That ate away at her crimson tainted flesh
...
The tears stop falling
While the water still runs
Over her treacherous heartbeat,
Down the curves of her spine
As she desperately attempts
To wash away her sins
Not knowing the paint was permanent
Forever etched into her skin
Burning demons into her own canvas
...
Years later,
After many hidden portraits..

Her fragile body aches
As she paints one more masterpiece
To tie the rest of her canvases together.
And with a final stroke of her brush
A tear slips down her face
Rejoicing in how long her art lived
In secrecy before she ran out of paint
...
  She finally paints her signature
  Onto the tiles of her bathroom floor
  Her legacy or a warning to those stuck like her
  The world won't ever come to know
  All they knew was her heart ran out
  Of words to say and canvases to paint
  As she took her last breath and spelled out
           **Mise en Abyme

Red lips
White paint
hides death
her grace a butterflies wing
life caught in her cold stare of her sting.
All dressed in colours which catch the moons glare
she kisses you like death kisses away the life that fades from sleep
an angel with a bushido blade
cuts away the bamboo which grows with haste
the light fades into a full moon
A butterfly hiding in a tomb
with carnivorous teeth
hiding a song of red bloodied despair
her cold touch ice on skin
catches your heart within sin
The black tea ceremony
of vampiric death or matrimony
if she chooses you for her thrall.

Im afraid to kiss you
Because of the fear of being left breathless
Gasping for air
The theif you are stealing life from my lungs

I'm afraid to leave you
Because without you near I'd surely fall apart
Picking up the pieces
The craftsman you are, putting me back together

I'm afraid to be loved by you
Because of the unrealistic, idealistic picture you paint of me
Every brush stroke
The artist that paints in dissappointment of who I really am

I'm afraid to trust you
Because of the words you whisper late at night
I love you more
The liar that insists in the false reality in which you could ever love me more