Wednesday, January 27, 2010


You scold me that I have no idea how much you love me
as if I am a child that has written on the walls with magic marker
and cannot comprehend the consequences
of not cleaning up the mess around me in an instant
I know not how to make you see that I choose this mess
and I think it’s beautiful art, unlike the paintings
I used to do for you that were always ruined and streaked with my tears
you are the only one that thinks me wrong
and in my heart I know that what I’m creating now
can never be duplicated or destroyed
you are no longer my muse of love and happiness
you are just a love of the past that I cannot erase.

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