By Brian Richmond

As I sit by
The empty canvas that has lain
Bedsheets have adorned this floor
More than the bodies on this bed
As I lay countless brushstrokes
And attempt to paint a story
Feelings of contempt fill me
I soon overindulge my pain
I haven’t forgotten the voice to blame
Or the thoughts of a mistake
I haven’t washed my brushes in days
Because I haven’t made a change
The colors all bleed
Just like the thoughts in my veins
I cannot think of any other way
The empty canvas, lain no more
A blood-soaked apparition
Of unspoken treaties
And misheard breathing
I’ll work on my masterpiece some more