wasted paint.

At first he painted a beautiful woman,
His vision of eyes had seen
He gave her wings,
to see her fly
An angel within his eye,
Placed a ticking heart,
of pure love within her chest,
And labeled her of everything,
the very best,
Hours went by painting not complete,
She wasn't enough,
So bitter sweet,
He needed more ,
painting colours galore,
He started with some shadows
Placing them around her
Painting her with poisonous paint that almost drowned her,
He placed endless blue drops within her eyes,
Could hardly see her face,

She looked so sad and out of place,

A second canvas did he yield,
Painted her again,
Her sorrows healed,
Once again the angel revealed,
Gave her wing's to fly,
Something glimmering within her eyes,
Painted her the biggest smile,
The world had ever seen,
But it didn't last long,
He covered it in green,
The colours of envy like the monster that lurked inside,
Jealous broken pride,
Cast upon her shadows
Once again tears of blue within her eyes,
Something about this painting that he did create,
Had the words destruction upon completion to this date,
Beauty was not to be her fate,
But the colours of all his hate endless now create,
Covering her in drips of red bleeding from her eyes,
Tape around her mouth covering her cries,
Ripped out her beating heart
And covered it in black,
No more painting angel's,
She's never coming back,
For he is a true found poet,
And has no cause to paint,
illusion of his fate
Death the angel so out of date,
Non no more recreate,
Nor a painting sold in state ,
For the love of hate,
Cast the soul in paintings spoil displaced eyes for all to see,
A painting of his mind,
not her you see,
For he is indeed an artist within the true colours of heart,
Caused such destruction tearing the canvas apart.

Somewhere in the gallery of truth and love,
Shinning is that angel untouched non defeated,
Painting peacefully completed ,
Shinning within her divine light,
For all eyes to dream,
As he writes his famous lines into the darkness of his plight,
Seeking another museum of sorrow,
To paint within his hollow heart,
Waiting watching into the night,
With only his pen tonight.

For all the paint was wasted and didn't turn out right,

This angel shine's ever so bright

Maybe hell,
can give him the paint to burn the daylight,
Seeping into the darkness of forevermore no light.