My heart yearns

To be pricked

By that thorn.

Why must this happen?

Such distance

Leaves me torn.

Unique strokes

Add more detail

To the bigger picture.

Of a painting

Signed by my own blood

As the tears blend a mixture.

My eccentric muse;

My very hitching breath

It is stilled from your words.

Though it you have not heard.

Cry you say

Then shall I paint a smile?

"I'm afraid"

Then I'll play for a while.

Though is that so possible?

No, it's only nonsense.

Living in separate worlds

There's no need for pretense.

Only sharp edges

Bend inwards

It's a journey

Go onwards

Only lines

Ever seem to blur.

A never ending portrait

A speck may lure.

Eyes become pits

A squishy hand to a rock

Curls to a rustle of leaves.

And there increases my need.

I know you were glancing back.

With that smile that drives me wild.

Your passion has never gone out of style.

Yet your image is a fading profile.

And your stories are tales of fiction.

With characters of multiple dimensions.

The laughable quirks that you possess.

While you pull them off with such finesse.

The aftermath leaves me a mess.

Somehow, one that I don't detest.

And all the memories are of adventures

That I don't regret.

Only when I reach out

Am I blocked by a canvas

Designed by lies and cleaves.

Only when I shout

Am I reminded of the years of us

And how I wish you wouldn't leave.