My Darkest Paintbrush

Does it make sense? The reason why the whole world starts to fall apart When the stars shine? How the darkest hours are on the bathroom floor With the lights on Staring at his razor blades on the counter Wondering why Of all the things he left, why was it your Favorite paintbrush Seeing the whole world in red and black. Carving his name Painstakingly into your red stained flesh so that he doesn’t Leave you like everyone else did But wait didn’t You run from the last one who tried to stay Didn’t you plug Your ears so the shock waves stopped killing You slowly. Still hear The soul wrenching sobs coming from his frame One more name Written in your red stained flesh Like a thorn in your Side. Forever in pain. Because you can’t win This one. This time. Look at the mountain of unbeaten wars. Paint with fire and Blood, the scars that litter your life. Scream, violently, The words trapped inside your head From the salted Fresh open wounds blistering inside. Does it make sense Why the darkest hours are when the World falls apart On the bathroom floor, when the stars Come out. Staring At your favorite paintbrush that He left on the Counter, using the blade to paint Lemon juice names Into your freshly salted flesh.