my paint brush

Staring at the pretty brown canvas that holds a certain rush
the little voice within me dared me to pick up the brush
i resisted and resisted for days on end
but today a different day today the voice will win.

the first stroke feels like home it chases away my pain
the second stroke a little deeper makes me feel abit sane
just a couple more is all i need
then i can watch the canvas bleed

it runs a pretty bright red
to watch it drip sends a message of clarity to my head
i can feel again im no longer numb
i feel the strokes on the canvas throbbing beating like a drum

i feel so much better but this house is still not a home
my thoughts swim in my mind im better off alone
i have only one true love
and each stroke of the brush takes me back above

back into his arms back where i feel safe
im a slave to my brush there is no escape