Memento Mori || Poetry

Paint

As I stared at paint splattered hands,

Dread settled in and made me want to wrench.

My hands itched for my tools,

Tools that leave me red and drenched.

***

My art is so pretty, you know?

But other people find it hideous.

They're weird,

So what if my brush is a blade they find dangerous?

***

How can I forget my paper?

My paper that always gives me a free color?

The color of valentine roses,

The color that I paint with that makes people stare at me with horror.

***

Drip, Drop, Drip, Drop,

"You will run out of paint at this rate",

A voice in my head whispered,

But I just continued to paint.

- Asteria