I found a old painting today, from when I was three or four.
It was nothing really, just splotches of paint, simplistic, nothing more.
But I couldn't take all of the credit, for this painting was not just mine,
On the side you could see daddy's fingerprints, from when he came home mad one time.
He took the page and scrunched it up, as tears fell down my face.
Mummy snatched it back and tried to stop him, but he soon put her in her place.
He screamed at her for being silly, hit her with eyes so bright.
'It's fine' she'd tell me as I touched her bruised arm, for it was only a play fight.
It's mummy's too, as you can see, in the corner where I left it plain,
Her favourite shade, 'Devil's kiss', a bright red lipstick stain.
The painting was on her vanity, as she sprayed perfume and powdered her nose,
But none of it was for Daddy, not the stockings and tight-fitted clothes.
She'd creep out of the house late at night, a gloved finger to her lips,
As I stood at the top of the staircase, watching her hum and swing her hips.
My Aunty owns the painting too, for she needed it one day,
On top of it she used her cancelled credit card, to make her own display.
Three rows of powdered icing sugar, all neatly lined up on the floor,
But that's all I could really see, as she slammed shut the bedroom door.
If you look really closely, yes I can even see it now,
Little traces of the white substance, it was so long ago I don't know how.
My brother didn't sign his name, but you can tell he was an artist too,
He used it to hide a present he said, but would never tell me for who.
I decided to lift it up one day, just to see what the present could be,
Bags and bags of tiny pills, like the ones mummy locked away from me.
I hardly dared to breathe, when I saw the word 'deadly'.
I pinned the painting up on the wall, hung it up for everyone to view,
So I could display my handy work, just a juvenile painting, nothing new.
