He said you had the eyes of an insomniac
And hands that shake like they're looking for some unfathomable answer
                                                
                                                                                                            Searching, restless, uneasy.
You make no eye contact because no one looks back quite the same
Their eyes are like your hands
                                                                               Restless, searching

There is chaos in your sleep so you get no rest
                                                                                    Headaches and pills
And you have people you would die for
And you would die if they did
You have parents who would die for you
But you would die anyway
                                     For nothing
                                     For anyone
Any excuse to leave
He said you have the eyes of a haunted angel
                                                            Such emotion made you uncomfortable
You said it wasn't anything makeup couldn't fix
He said
"Take that mask off."

"I want you all to put a paintbrush to that canvas and sign your signature."

eyes danced around the room too scared to land anywhere
what a beautiful, devastating masterpiece

  The canvas filled with every shade of our pain
No one else would understand the hues of our language
The way the splatters aligned just right
Our messy beautiful pain
New age art therapy *******

I watched you all throw colours at the wall of white
Behind your protective sheet
And scream in  voices I'd never heard
about, rage, about misery
Covered in every colour of the rainbow and tears and snot
and *memories
Some broke down and cried
"WHY, WHY THE **** DID YOU HAVE TO DIE?!"

Reminded me of my brothers paint ball party
But without the clowns
without the laughter
Just a bunch of screaming, incomprehensible children

"HOW COULD YOU DO THAT TO ME?"
                        
why?

Some broke more than their share of things
Now look
look at that picture we painted
Isn't it beautiful
aren't the colours just right?
Bright orange,
Yellow
Doesn't it hurt your eyes
Now look,
black
blue
Like the bruises inside
you
Look at us,
If I could take a picture of the look in each one of your eyes
As you ladled fistfuls of paint
Of eggs
Vases
Broke things to mimic the sound of your own
Brokenness
Onto some chaotic point of oblivion
I would say
"Wait, ah, there it is, that's what pain looks like."