The artist sat up on his stool, paint now covered the canvas
He focused in on his work, before smashing it
The ripped, colorful fibers laid in it's broken frame
She haunted him still
He saw her everywhere, he couldn't forget her
His brush strokes remember every detail of her face
No matter if he painted the sky, the stars, he saw her
Her reflection in everything
He remembered how he painted her,
How he had treated her
Then she was gone
Now she plagues his thoughts in her ghostly presence
Even if he drowns himself in wine or murky paint water
She doesn't leave, but follows closer
Shall he suffer this personal wrath
His personal hell he colored together
Was this a curse from her?
Was this his own doing?
Why must he suffer her loss?
One glance at the mirror across from him, told all
A chilly air soon filled the room, he shivered
He wasn't alone
His ghost was in the room with him again
