Paint

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by SteVc64

by SteVc64

You don't get the luxury of watching me walk away.

That's not how I work, darling.

I don't quit. I don't give up and walk out, on you.

So when it all becomes too much for you, and my demons have kicked you out of the bed at 3 in... the morning, screaming, and covered in a cold sweat, and you've had all you can take, it will be your sweet ass I watch walking away from me in that sheer nightgown. It will be the backs of your legs I see marching away, with my mouth tasting every inch of, as they go.

And I'll redecorate this dying room in the colours of my sorrows; blood-red, raw.

And I'll leave that drop cloth folded, and on the shelf, because I want this place to look like a fucking crime scene.

I want it to look like, Jackson Pollock, himself crawled out of the grave, and came here, and murdered me with a fucking paint brush.

I want the walls and floors that once touched your beautiful hands, and bare feet, to resemble a gallery, of every throbbing, blood gushing, beat, of my heart.

So that everyone who walks into this broken, shattered, abode, will ask, who the fuck was killed in here.

~SteVc