i bled shades reflected on prisms

and you held your paintbrush all too eagerly

smearing my words across your canvas

rearranging my thoughts to fit snug into the ideas

that you tucked into the hollows of your bones

and stitched into the skin of your reflection

you burnt me until i was ashes and doubt

so you could feel my dreams between your teeth

sprinkling me across your calendars and plans

the corner of “yours” and “gone”

you called yourself an artist

yet your creations are destruction

and i cannot repaint the way i was

before bumping into you.