I never had a chance with you.

You, who surround yourself with beauty,

You, who embody color and light.

Creation leaks from your fingertips

As if you can't help but fashion fascination.

Everywhere you go,

You leave behind paint drips,

Your skin flakes off in pastel chips,

And the world is your canvas.

I understand why you would paint me out of the scene

If I was ever even in frame at all.

My mind holds a different picture

Than what you draw on these walls -

But that painting has broken now.

So I crutch around on your brushes

And I'll fall onto your easel like a cross.

Martyrdom isn't the worst I could do

In the shadows of your inspiration.

I'll stay behind your canvas where you can't see

And hope the paint seeps through

And your colors cover me.