Painted Soul

Drops of paint splatter upon the art
some by choice others from fate
as each drop flows from my heart
using the brush as my flood gate

with each flourishing twist
leaving red stripes like burns
as blue drops land like mist
painting over all of life's turns

letting all of my emotions go
paralyzing shivers in my spine
launching strokes that evenly flow
losing track of all thought in time

feeling them rush from my head
drifting down my veins in measure
painting the words meant to be read
as I derive my sick sense of pleasure

unlocking everyone from my door
as I continuously paint voices
each one from a canvas on the floor
letting my mind become invaded by noises

steady is my hand like notes on a violin
as an enlarging crowd of people appear
and like a concert ready to finally begin
people huddle close to the front to be near

but to everyones surprise I drop my brush
and walk out the door far in the back
to escape the advancing mobs rush
as people notice what this show does lack

watching people flock to this gallery in herds,
you finally realize what you find;
is that my brush, is my words,
and my canvas, is your mind.

by LifeIsIronic
posted on 06/07/2009