The Aftertaste

Five

Your skin to him
Is a canvas
That he filled
With all the shades of blue

Your eyes to him
Are fluorescent lights
That he put off
Because they shone too bright
He couldn't sleep at night

Your laugh to him
A sound he had to mute
Because it distracted him
When he was painting
On your skin
Darker shades of blue

Your heart to him
Is nothing but an organ
Beating
Bleeding
Aching
Breaking
He serrated it with slices
That matched the ones
On his own

Your dreams to him
Visions he had to dull and dim
He turned them
As grey as
The smoke he puffs
On Sunday evenings
When he's not painting

The smoke
Chokes you
Suffocates you
But it's not really the smoke
It's him
His hands
On your frail neck
It's him
Painting on you
The shades of blue getting darker
Until they match his sadness
His madness
Until dark
Is all you see

-If it hurt you, why did you stay?