In every painting there is pain.
Every stroke is a drop of a tear.
Every tear is a drop of paint.

Every canvas is my skin,
bare and raw,
screaming in agony.
Every fiber is a raw nerve.
Every line is a boundary
crossed one time too many.

I sculpt myself with a palette knife.
I weave my heart into the canvas.
I spread myself thin
giving birth to my creations.

Some dreams are best to be forgotten.
Some canvases are meant to be burned.
Some frames are crucifixes
waiting for their martyr.

I am stapled and stretched
across the colorless void.
My brushes are my nails.
My wounds are my palettes.
Emptiness is my enemy.

With every breath I take
I am drawing nearer to my Golgotha.

Every stroke is a drop of a tear.
Every tear is a drop of paint.
Every brush is a nail.
There is pain in every painting.