Clouds Amongst the Stars [ A Poetry Collection ]

paint

the palms of my hands
they yearn for more paint
screaming for a canvas
life's a mess of blurry colors lately
all blended and the lines are crossing baby
anymore i can't tell the difference
between all the cravings
is it paint or a punching bag i need lately?
or its words that wont roll off my pen maybe
knuckles were bloody
the scars looking like bruising
fingertips are red from the flame
thighs stained from the paint
at some point it all fades
any evidence of my madness
all washed away when the storm leaves
artists don't have to be insane
but it sure brightens the effect of their pain
the talent is seasonal in that case
but the seasons come in waves
wave of color
waves of screams
its when they flower
flourishing under the water
some break under pressure
while few shed their normal
trading it in for all of their color
the storm subsides
and im left with naked eyes
feeling like im paralyzed
craving for the paint simply emphasized
but too exhausted to improvise.