Our love was a blank canvas,
You painted as I watched,
You poured your love, my love, our love,
And captured everything I sought.
But your love was never the painting,
Your love was the paint,
You moved on to another canvas,
And left my blank one stained.
And now my heart is blank again,
And I hope that's how it stays,
Rather than have a masterpiece,
And have to wash it away.
YOU ARE READING
A collection of poetry
PoesíaA collection of poetry. It may not always be what you want to read, but its always real. Cover made by Shannon Hughes, a.k.a @LavendarEyes.
