He was like a damaged canvas,
Making my colours darken with every stroke.
He was the empty space in between my deepest cracks,
Fracturing my every good motive
Darkened my every colour.
Broke down my every tower
His fingers against the tip of my brush,
His blood staining my canvas
His soul breathing into my art,
My head sinking down to his heart
He was no saint,
He was just my paint.
Making my colours darken with every stroke.
He was the empty space in between my deepest cracks,
Fracturing my every good motive
Darkened my every colour.
Broke down my every tower
His fingers against the tip of my brush,
His blood staining my canvas
His soul breathing into my art,
My head sinking down to his heart
He was no saint,
He was just my paint.
-I found a longer version of Paint in my laptop, so I thought I'd post it.
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