|
On morning one when sunlight spoke |
|
an unfamiliar place i woke |
|
and my arms and limbs, all lines so faint |
|
crudely sketched in paint |
|
red, blood red, wall overhead |
|
this work of art, this lover's bed |
|
his pictures hung; the splattered marks |
|
as the curator, she starts... |
|
"oh him? he was sweet. |
|
now he's layers underneath. |
|
our ink is forever." |
|
she lied through her teeth. |
|
painted over |
|
painted over |
|
painted over |
|
love it grew from a simple crush |
|
as colors saturate the brush |
|
blue for honor and gold for the truth |
|
the artist's final touch |
|
time, gray time, it warped shapes |
|
The canvas frayed and the work replaced |
|
painted over, now all i see is |
|
an envious shade of green |
|
and now she hears me, |
|
from layers underneath, |
|
from cracks in the paint; |
|
the voice while she sleeps |
|
painted over |
|
painted over |
|
painted over |