The brush trails behind streaks of paint

Still wet, it reflects the chandelier’s light.

While the artist chooses his schemes of colors,

Black and white become his queen.

He sets the scene, planned out in his mind.

His landscape follows the roads to her heart.

 

Distracted by the beating of his heart,

His tears are mixed with the dying paint.

Thick as blood, it taints the image in his mind.

He runs to the window to let in the light.

Relieved, he sees his painting still resembles his queen,

A blend of all the world’s beautiful colors.

 

He used to only paint in colors,

Until the colors were all drained from his heart.

She would never know she was his queen,

Although she appeared with the arrival of his paint.

Back in the times when his heart was light,

She hadn’t even been present in his mind.

 

He’s had plenty of queens live in his mind,

But never one as bright in her colors.

He painted and splotched, with a soul so light,

It had been so long since he had felt his heart.

He needed this art, he needed his paint

Oh how he loved, how he hated this queen.

 

He’d lost her, lost her, lost his queen!

He’d lost it, lost it, lost his mind!

How could he, how dare he, trust his paint

He knew he could never match her true colors.

The pain, the unworthiness of his heart,

The terror that comes along with the light!

 

He had to, he needed to demolish the light.

He didn’t want to see how he’d ruined his queen.

Her gaze pierced straight through, severed his heart.

There was absolutely nothing left of his mind.

He was losing them, killing them, gone were the colors.

 

Gone was his queen, lost in the paint.

Gone was his heart, along with the light.

Gone was his paint, along with his queen.

All because of his mind, distorting the colors.