shards of all my lies,
but you taped them together
and called the piece the truth
you say that it was "fine" all the time;
it wasn't fair to you.
and you liked to paint me
your brightest reds
turned me into blue,
when you got tired of them.
shimmering in your gold,
but it lost its color,
when you came home,
sick of me and our world again.
when i left our world,
they sent me back to the gray reality.
and honestly, it hurts,
but i'd rather be with you,
than with false promises of
quick cash for paint
and innovative dream machines.
every now and then,
i walk through your art museum.
paintings of purple trees and
pictures of you and me,
i wish i could say that i hate them;
i see my timeline in your life
and for a moment
i'd like to think that you were mine.
when the clock hits nine,
i close the door and run away.
i rewind the time, i lock the gates,
i imagined that i saw you,
and that i held you close,
in a different reality,
i would peek through the window,
hoping to see you,
and reclaim what was ours,
but i left, took my paint,
my old jacket, and stole the truth,
before it was used again.
