Painting

I align my canvas. The paint comes after. Everywhere. My eyes go. Flowing and running. Far from home. In the studio. Far from the blue ocean. I use green, instead. Splattering. Patterns. Then destroying the patterns. Then I turn my canvas around… When you have a mental illness. Painting becomes the main quest. Trying to sleep? I have given up. I let my paints erupt. At 3:00 am, I hear the microwave beep. The paint starts to creep. Everywhere is a mess. I confess… I used to align my canvas, just right. But now it is spinning. Paint comes after. Clean up comes after. Sleep comes after… Or maybe I’ll start a new painting.