You push my black with your coloured painted palette
I'd rather be the paper than the painter.
Slick strokes created the mirage of a bond once held together by a frame.
No longer a picture perfect portrait.
Friends biologically formed.
And drifting,
Don't let my solitude break your heart.
I like to stay closed while you blossom next to me.
Watch the world, I will watch you capture it.
But inside my closed petals, there is another I have made my own.
