canvas empty, ready to be filled
brush in hand, ready to fill
deft strokes flew across the clean canvas;
to fill the empty with the painter’s heart
yet in doing so, the ugly strokes that taint the white
only create an emptier canvas

I thank thee
for granting us with memory
for allowing us to remember
things so precious

I thank thee
for letting us relive
our joys, our sorrows
our loves, our pains

And though thou warps
And changes and transforms
And weakens and fades
And dies

I thank thee, o memory
for thy transience
for giving us the bittersweet beauty
of thy temporal gaze

the pain just gnaws
with no root to cut
the mind is just a breeding ground
meant to destroy the weak
theres nothing to achieve
except having to stand again
because thats the way of life
to be nothing more

acrylics into bloodstains
teetering on the threads
hardened the bottle of ink
carved with not a single trail
of the everlasting nothing

It took me so long
To find the way out
Only to be pushed in once more
By my own foolishness

It took you so long
To guide me back out
Only for me to fall back in
Of my own volition

We three dancers
Dance to the crowd
A well-rehearsed farce
A perfected tapestry
The show comes to an end
And all the blind mice clap.

Powerlessness
Helplessness
All I can do is cry
Wrapped up in a web of lies
Are they mine
Or are they yours?
I don’t know.
And I don’t care.
I cry
Once again
My crimson tears