Poetical Canvas

Stains of tears, were the only colour to your portraits
Scars and wounds, as the fractures and sketches
In your heart, stabbed by their crafting pencil, were details
And breaths of lifelessness for the subtlety of finishing touches, forming artwork of patches

How can I paint you something more than just a glimpse?
When things take time, and time takes things
The easel wears down, and so does all my paintings
Shredded pieces of my artwork, now a mosaic of feelings

Hungover on your addiction, like a passionate artist
Like fire brightens what's dark, and burns what isn't
And water runs when held, and drowns when consuming
My colour palette was all shards, and flickers of mosaic

Your whiteness eclipsed in the papers, with blank prints
Sketching hearts and flowers, for the image of it, in blackness
The messier something was, the more artistic
Every torn bit of you was a collage in my poetical canvas