The Painter

How long have you been feeling this way? Feeling like an incomplete painting you are yet to finish because the colors you've been given aren't quite right. As if mixing blue and red doesn't make purple, or red and yellow doesn't make orange. Putting the paintbrush away in forgotten storage to adopt another's finished forest. It feels nice being an extra in foreign paradise. The silver river shimmers and the gold sun gleams. Way the shade from an oak tree rests perfectly upon the grassiest green. "This heaven is home," you tell the mirror brushing away neon tears, smearing the smile that was never set. Waiting with "what's next" since this deceptive scene isn't the ends to your means. Leaving false scenery beautifully unique as you trace foreign track beliefs back to the little hell left incomplete. Awakened to a rusted brush stained with paint from an abandoned lover's veins, only now, things aren't the same. Finding that everything you hold near is insincere reflecting what you've always feared; eggshell skin with no yolk. Filled with weed smoke and heavy beer to hold your heart while you lay down with secular feels. The night fades to rising reality of loveless bed made. Returning to your abandoned heart to find it broken with scattered spare parts. No longer able to pick up where you left off. Retracing asymmetrical lines that are no longer defined by the passing time. Bypassing the very tests that betrayed what's in your breast. These neon seas fill as you feel what eyes cannot see. What physical comfort cannot comfort within your being. Ghost of running goodbyes from emotional height as you return to murder scene you didn't want to believe. Feeling the strongest muscle cramp as fingers run across true love's chalk mark heart. Forgotten vinyl chokes on repeating last note written in a book of unspoken emotion. The rebounding echo of a familiar voice drenched in pain responding to lack of remorse gave. Colors of same promises broke are splattered in buckshot patterned stain. Trying to believe this was all self-inflicted to cover up guilt and shame. Hands weigh heavy with weapon given by deceiver who taught you how to aim. Turned gun set towards brain pulled trigger BANG -

- Sounds the barrel full of blanks. Turning brush set towards blank pane to create yourself new again.