she would be unclothed
all her secrets laid out
in the late summer sun
streaming through the open window
she would face the painter
her almost-green-but-not-quite eyes
wide with a fear and a thrill
never felt until now
her rosebud lips twitch in a half smile
as though she is afraid
the happiness will be lost if she grins too wide
her chocolate brown hair
curls just above narrow shoulders
sprinkled with cinnamon freckles
the artist paints with a tender hand
capturing both innocence and allure
and when he is done the girl is dressed and gone
and so the painting is hidden and gathers dust
until a curious boy unveils it years later
and hangs it above the fireplace
where his greedy eyes can feast on the girl's secrets
day and night, he will try to unravel them
but distraction comes in shape of a skin and bone lover
so the painting is suppressed again
until another prying hand wipes the dust away

I thought that if
   I had enough spray paint
    And a place to put it
      Then maybe I could
        Make something out of these
          Drab pale walls

            But the landlords
               They got mad
                  And they said I would have to pay
                    For the damage done

                      But, I didn't see any damage
                        All I saw was galaxy
                           And colors that reflect
                             What I felt at night

                                 ... I wish that I could just
                                    Order the ones that painted over
                                       And damaged me
                                            To pay, and to fix what they did
                                               But maybe they don't understand
                                                  What they did, either
                                                      Because I look fine to them
                                                         And my expression
                                                              For all that they know
                                                                 Is not faked

                                                                    And maybe they like what
                                                                       They did
                                                                          And maybe it doesn't
                                                                              Look that bad
                                                                                 From where they stand watching

                                                                                    So I will fix the **** wall
                                                                                       And then right once it is back to
                                                                                          Its normal
                                                                                             Wretched colors
                                                                                                I'll paint over it again
                                                                                                  But this time with my own blood
                                                                                                      And the tears that they caused

                                                                                                         And you won't be able to
                                                                                                              Demand me to fix it
                                                                                                                 And they will still gaze at me
                                                                                                                    And smile
                                                                                                                       At what
                                                                                                                             They
                                                                                                                                  Did

Your body is a canvas,
Covered with the paint,
of your life.
I want to study
and learn every stroke,
every scar.
I want to know
every part of you.
I need to learn your story
by seeing
and feeling
every inch of you.

There is a vast depth within me,
strange and inexplicable
even to myself...
No words exist to explain
the truths that lie there.
Only pigment and brush
intuitively composed
on blank canvas
by hands none other than my own.

It hurts to breathe
and oh my god I thought I meant something to you
But I can't sleep at night
There are puddles in my eyes.
You opened up a book full of mysteries and pictures of better days
And I fell in between the pages
Mesmerized and lost in the clear skies and dark shadows
I was amazed and intrigued by this new world you opened up in a matter of a few pages
I never wanted to leave
And I wanted to have a thousand forevers in that paradise
But soon the clear skies turned into gray and it started to rain
The rain turned into hurricanes and it never stopped
I thought I had found my better days
but it turned out that I was just in the eye of the hurricane.
The raging winds and roaring storms left me breathless and torn
Now I don't know how to make myself better
I don't know how to be whole
I don't know what I've become
All I do is play the clear skies and the parts where it felt like I mattered over and over in my mind
When your words and my heart intertwined like our fingers, inseparable by any storm.
I thought your words were the only truth I needed
You held me close and I was so lost in the haze that I didn't realize you put me in the middle of a storm
You crushed my mind, my sanity, and my heart
You ******* crushed me and left me to glue myself together
I can't find all the pieces
They must have gotten lost in those winds
I don't paint clear skies anymore
It hurts to breathe.

I got my room painted today; my old walls were scarred, chipped,   worn...memories
But the past is in the past, the paint has already  dried. So why can't I forget? Why can I still hear them, the memories echoing through the room like restless spirits.
I just have one question, if I peeled back a coat or two, would the scars beam with pride? And would the walls still bear the scars proudly?

I guess a new coat will be good.... still underneath the glaze of perfection, the scars are still hiding and the walls are still whispering...
Yet I will remember,
only
me

Where there are no words that connect.
With all the colours that you feel,
To watch letters paint freely into each other
The magic of life,
It is indeed.

I adore you.
That is all there is to it.
Sometimes red poppies blossom in my stomach because of it
Like ***** watercolour water it grows increasingly murky
I find it is a beautiful shade of hurt and soul
It contrasts nicely with my porcelain casing
Like a tea *** I am poised to empty my contents
I adore, you.