A Fresh Coat of Paint
By violetfyre
Nothing comes.Not sleep or happiness.I came out here to die,To sniff paint fumes in the dark,And nothing comes,Not sleep or a vision,Or a breath of fresh air.I want to be clean,But nothing comes.Epiphanies or revelationsOr death.I came out here to die,To write poems and wish I were someone else,To build myself a new life out of clay and paint,And hope it holds up better than the one I built of glassThat cracked and shattered at the slightest vibration.I'll never know how things could've been, should've been,If they should've been at all,Or what if feels like to fingerpaint,Or do anything I want without feeling guilt.Nothing comes.Nothing.Not a whisper,Not a gentle kiss,Not an angel with a paintbrush.** Written November 4th, 2001 © on Nov 04 2001 07:37 AM PST 18 • 0 • 10
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"Nothing comes.Not sleep or happiness.I came out here to die,To sniff paint fumes in the dark,And nothing comes,Not sleep or a vision,Or a breath of fresh air.I want to be clean,But nothing comes.Epiphanies or revelationsOr death.I came out here to die,To write poems and wish I were someone else,To build myself a new life out of clay and paint,And hope it holds up better than the one I built of glassThat cracked and shattered at the slightest vibration.I'll never know how things could've been, should've been,If they should've been at all,Or what if feels like to fingerpaint,Or do anything I want without feeling guilt.Nothing comes.Nothing.Not a whisper,Not a gentle kiss,Not an angel with a paintbrush.**..."