I paint a canvas
splattering all sorts of colors but focusing on black as a main
I succumb to its beauty
yet I reiterate the same shades and patterns
I evolve and expand its volume to a thousand corners and minimal spaces
but its distinct and dingy sights amaze me as a whole.
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I try to show my love through maybe doing something with my hands
but I fail wholeheartedly because I know the ending and its outcome.
I severely cut through the thick paper
and leave it with absolutely nothing but a stain to the next and a ruined portayal.
I may not seem sorry because I know my true nature
yet I still cry because I ruined someone else's.
I cannot do something with my hands
because everything I touch just gets ruined.
I creep upon and beneath the thick skull that holds these ideas as a script
for what I want is coincidentally right on the other side.
YOU ARE READING
Mellifluous Murmurs
Poetry❁ Freedom is allowing the crisp air to guide you through this forest we can call society. ❁