i bled shades reflected on prisms
and you held your paintbrush all too eagerly
smearing my words across your canvas
rearranging my thoughts to fit snug into the ideas
that you tucked into the hollows of your bones
and stitched into the skin of your reflection
you burnt me until i was ashes and doubt
so you could feel my dreams between your teeth
sprinkling me across your calendars and plans
the corner of “yours” and “gone”
you called yourself an artist
yet your creations are destruction
and i cannot repaint the way i was
before bumping into you.