The Painter

Brush strokes on a canvas
He paints with his heart
Tenderly displaying colors
Carefully placing each perfect part

With intricate detail
Imagining the picture
First- red, pink, and white
An intimate mixture

Then- black, blue, and grey
Dark colors of hate
Contradicting meanings
Dirty a beautiful slate

Tears from his eyes
As his feelings crumble down
A once friendly smile
Now a miserable frown

Still, colors keep erupting
Letting loose how he feels
Screaming with florescent blue
Creation lost it's appeal

The canvas now messy
He attempts to retreat
But two steps back proves
It's still not quite complete

He thrusts his black brush
Into wet, soggy paint
The image of love
Grows seemingly faint

A once welcoming portrait
Painted with love and passion
Takes a quick turn
In an unexpected fashion

Tears now are streaming
His brush begins thrashing
Painting over beauty
The image goes crashing

Paint on the floor beneath
His trembling toes
It's the story he covers
As the black overthrows

He throws down the canvas
And starts over again
But he cannot control
The hatred within.

It's not good, I know. I was going for something different, but it didn't come out, so it is what it is.