Mellifluous Murmurs

Picture Perfect

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.