Artists capture moments for eternity
In dried paint mimicking life
But the stiff edges of them
Are unable to show the emotions
That flow off of everyone
Softening their edges
Bleeding more than my open vein

Their colors are unable to resemble
The stark red of my blood
On the recently bleached porcelain
Or pinpoint each star
Of the galaxies within his eyes

Nor are they able to blend their paints
To show how the simple white pills
Absorb the colors of my palm
Or how they make each of his movements
So drastic and sharp

The way her body turns and twists
When the music pulses within her
Is something artists have yet to paint

They may grasp how her hair twirls around her
Getting stuck on her lipgloss
But it will never look right
Without the motion behind it

The lack of music is deafening in their portraits
They tried to capture the beauty of a songbird
In a soundproof glass box

There is so much that I want to write
Express how all of these occurrences affected me
Put on paper the way this music has me feeling
But each time I begin
It all feels wrong
I delete all the lines I had down
Contemplating if lines of another sort would be good
Wishing I had toxins to consume me
Just as their lack of presence does
Those who are here are not the ones I crave
Just like I crave those pills again
That terrifying sensation
To fill my time just like years past
But I know that I want to be here when they return
Whether that be two days or two months
So I leave that sensation in my past
Dreaming of new ones that I want to experience
With someone who is supposed to be back here with me soon
I impatiently await for them to return
On the edge of all my seats
Waiting for the night I do not have to go back
To this prison they call home
But can be in his arms all night as my worries dissipate
While poisons fill me
As his presence soothes me