0083

a painted canvas beginning to dry in the day,
as you take a brush not knowing what to say,
the paint draws back into the bristles absorbing back,
looking like cleaning it off as you track,
separating the colours back on the palette again,
as the tears go up your face adding more pain,
bringing the painting back to a white blank sheet at the start,
the paints go back into the bottles separated apart,
sitting down as the morning sun sets,
the day to come holds no regrets.