Painted Red and Blue

My body, his canvas.
A piece of artwork I stand, 
painted
in a gallery of secrecy.

Locked away by bolted doors
I sketch a veil
of liquid smiles,
an artistic trait I adopted.

My body, is his alone.
my skin, is his muse.
A masterpiece only he 
can take pride in.

He strikes 
colours that speak 
of lust and passion
upon this pale surface.

He creates rose petals 
with bold acrylic 
to blush
my ivory complexion. 

Violent spills, Viole-t spills 
along paper skin 
like water washed ink
with conflicting hues.

This painting screams
with pain of lost love
pleading for recognition
of his expressive talents.

My voice 
swoons in twisted air of 
The Starry Night, 
lost in silence.

Framed on a wall
my portrait, trapped as 
the girl who couldn’t smile,
hollow eyed and closed lips.  

My body, his canvas.
Painted red and blue,
bloody and bruised
by the bristles on his knuckles