i fade into how i feel
like the way we paint
colors into night
how they mix
how the emotions blend
until i cannot tell
which one belonged to you
and which one was mine
and i feel you here
and i feel so wrong
i feel so used
i etch into what i believed
and i believed in this
a little too soon
before the paint could dry
before i knew
what color it would become
i can feel my bones
how they move
how they feel so bruised
and i sit too long
inside the regard of where i stand
while these pains
they settle deeply
into places
the body remembers
and i repeat
my eyes at night
how they bleed for what i want
how longing can look
so much like hope
when the room is dark enough
and i hate to feel like this
wronged by my wrongs
sitting inside it
like some part of me
almost wants the ache
because pain at least
still feels like something
i believe i can stand
on a single foot
and i believe
i can long for what i deserve
without falling
into everything
i thought i had to accept
i find this
blended somewhere
inside what i desire
two hands upon me
two broken shins to bleed
the color is deep
the red it burns
and i feel so damp
inside what i thought
i deserved
i stand here
beside the box
of where i put myself
the color of where
i leave this
still staining the edges
i painted you
like i wanted you
like i thought i had you
and i read what i thought was right
but the font was obvious
and i looked past it
because when you look past things
you can make them softer
you can blur the letters
you can convince yourself
the sentence might change
if you read it long enough
but i stand here
and i stare
and i long
and i feel
and i wish
i could desire
what i know is right
as easily as i desired
what i wanted
i leave you here
in september
between pages i built
between the tears i gave
for happiness
between what happened
and what i kept trying
to make it become
you move in ways
and i see those
how beautiful they can be
when you’re at the edge
and do not look back
but look into
everything you thought you had
and maybe that is where
the color finally changes
not when you stop feeling
but when you stop painting
over what was already there