Stop it. Stop loving me. I cannot stand you looking into my eyes. Seeing – but not understanding the lies. Ignorant to the deceit. I know it’s unfair. I’m not too proud to admit it, I’m just too weak to care.
Sometimes it feels wrong to hold you. You won’t slip from my hand but the more you hold on, the further I’m drifting away.
I am nothing but a picture painted on a canvas. The colors vanish with time until only the lines remain. Lines that define my existence. I want to cut myself out of the canvas – but can I exist outside the frame? Can a hole be a picture?
Will the picture be whole again?
Can you repaint me?
Any thoughts you’d like to share?