The Artist

I close my eyes and focus on the scene I want to paint.

But all I can see is the hell in your eyes as you pushed me for the last time.

Losing concentration by the second I see the scars and broken glass in my peripherals.

And I wonder how I’ve gotten to this place.

Suddenly the canvas is coated in blood and it’s reaching out to me, welcoming me.

I know the comfort is false but I can’t help it.

For I am an artist.