My Darkest Paintbrush
Does it make sense?
The reason why the whole world starts to fall apart
When the stars shine?
How the darkest hours are on the bathroom floor
With the lights on
Staring at his razor blades on the counter
Wondering why
Of all the things he left, why was it your
Favorite paintbrush
Seeing the whole world in red and black.
Carving his name
Painstakingly into your red stained flesh so
that he doesn’t
Leave you like everyone else did
But wait didn’t
You run from the last one who tried to stay
Didn’t you plug
Your ears so the shock waves stopped killing
You slowly. Still hear
The soul wrenching sobs coming from his frame
One more name
Written in your red stained flesh
Like a thorn in your
Side. Forever in pain. Because you can’t win
This one. This time.
Look at the mountain of unbeaten wars.
Paint with fire and
Blood, the scars that litter your life.
Scream, violently,
The words trapped inside your head
From the salted
Fresh open wounds blistering inside.
Does it make sense
Why the darkest hours are when the
World falls apart
On the bathroom floor, when the stars
Come out. Staring
At your favorite paintbrush that
He left on the
Counter, using the blade to paint
Lemon juice names
Into your freshly salted flesh.
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