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I should have mixed the pain(t) 

before I raised my brush, 

a devil hatched a saint 

then stroked the white with blush. 

The redness of these eyes 

once radiant and lush 

would palpitate with cries 

in wounds I couldn't hush. 

I should have kept my secrets 

or mixed the reds with white 

I might have cleansed my spirit 

but grey was stealing light, 

instead I played with blues 

and envy's greenish hues 

it's magic I would bleed; 

another purple bruise. 

Soon I had a canvas 

that was black before my eyes 

when all the rainbow colors 

you might find to mesmerize 

had faded with the beauty 

and the portrait of my peace 

I lost myself in pain(ting) 

as I wept a masterpiece. 

The colors of the hearts 

that the world considers bland, 

I should have mixed the colors 

so beautiful and grand 

instead I bled acrylic 

on easel's, dead and damned 

then smeared the dripping pain(t) 

with the tears and years that ran.