I love when the sun just breaks through morning storm clouds
Like His artful hand painting the darkness away
Or a father turning on the lights
“You see, the bogeymen are gone."

I cannot dare look down at the marks;
That I have casted upon myself.
I am a canvas with paint splatters of abuse,
I mistreated the use of my brushes.

I am starting to become careless with the color red,
The red paint is everywhere now showing my dread.

I have committed a crime against thee canvas,
Now I am becoming anxious with taking my chances.
It would be best if I was handless,
Then I wouldn’t be listening to this sadness and destroying my precious canvas.

I am a bandit,
Taking and letting things slip away.

Slowly I am losing this art battle,
But I am starting to not become a sore loser.
Worry is no longer getting the best of me,
I shall not be afraid of the blackness of defeat.

Wish me the best.
Applause me for my wonderful art work,
Because I gave you exactly what you wanted,
Can’t you see? I followed your exact instructions.

I have a lifeless canvas, that is white as a sheet,
Though I colored all over it.
This plainness came with some practice.

Oh I am so sorry, my canvas just landed on the hard floor,
I seemed I couldn’t appreciated it enough,
So now I must bid you a due now.

I miss wrapping my arms
around you under neon lights.
The smell of your t-shirt when my nose
was pressed against it in bed.
Watching the trail of cigarette smoke
sway side to side during deep conversations in cars.

I can still hear the roar of the highway,
at 7 a.m that June morning.
It blended in well like an oil painting;
next to the sun, The Beatles, and your smile.