Nov 19


i sit and wait for my mind to paint the words
like the sun paints the skies at night,
but i just cant come up with the right colors.

tonight, i want the sky to bleed lilac petals
but i keep mixing the wrong hues.
my blue is tainted yellow and now all i have is
my mind is painting oak leaves on a canvas
meant for purple petals. 
a mind stained with green.
a sky stained with green.
hands stained red from the
blood of my massacred thoughts.
it is hard to be happy with haphazard leaves
when you desired petals.

the sun does not paint a masterpiece every night.
the words will not fall to the canvas like paint. 
we stroke carefully, the sun and i.
sometimes creating lilac petals, sometimes settling for oak leaves.