There’s never been a night I wanted to whisper in your ear more
Than I did last night.
I wanted to shape the cold breeze,
And the pattering rain,
And open your mind to mine.
I want to lay my thoughts out like a morbid canvas;
Spread the brain,
Press out the creases,
And show you the vivid colours swirling inside.
If I was an artist, I could show you that world with a twitch of my wrist.
I could set before you the pictures,
That are the snapshots of my life;
I’d pick painful colours,
And joyful ones,
And mesh them together to form a masterpiece;
Only to make you understand.
But a painter I am not, and my brain remains inside of me.
I am just a poor man with his words,
A poor tool at best.
I cannot lay the colours of my mind before you,
Bear the creases,
Make you understand.
So instead I make you cry,
And I cry,
In hopes that tears will say things words,
And colours,
Never could.