THE LOVE OF MOVIES AND A GOOD BOOK
3.Watercolors.
I could talk about love,
The rainbows she painted at the end of my dark skies,
But I'm colour blind.
And this congenital defect is exactly why I'm the worst.
Kissing her is painful,
From sadness that injects into my lips like lip fillers.
Scars from going under the knife extending both sides of my smile like the joker.
The big picture filters everything else as we then pose side by side.
Disguising the stained armour with a polished glint
Because it matters what she thinks as part of the collective good
Maybe I'm not the hero she deserves, but have deemed myself one she needs right now.
The magic we conjured deceives just like the bible says,
It is a sleight of hand by a villainous clown everybody hates to love.
All along she's been the one.
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