Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop talking to me
God. I sometimes just hate the way this all works. Why can’t I hug and be held and then have someone grab my waist and heart beat changes and races and this is where I and this is who and oh yes
Dream with your eyes open.
I want to heal this interminable hole, this hole that tears can’t heal, because baby I ain’t no phoenix and god.
Crying at 1 a.m., 2 a.m., 3 a.m., look at a painting, see your face, see your mess of a life in it. Holding back, paint brush wavers because you can’t make those strokes properly if you’re heaving.
4 a.m., still sitting in front of the canvas, tears falling down your face, just like the lines of paint dripping down. Take your hand, squeeze it hard don’t let go don’t leave me
squeeze red paint onto your hand, and smash it against the canvas.
This is for you.
Smear the red all over the white, why is it so ugly? Can’t hold back now.
This is for me.
White white canvas, dark lines, and red, so much red, right in the center.
This is me.
Don’t stop don’t stoppp