it hurts there is no denying that
but it must be done - like cleaning
really cleaning, not relocating dirt
it must go somewhere so why not
art - the pain, the hurt, the tears, the blood, the very dead
all nicely pressed into verses, canvases
if i could paint - an eternity given in
seconds - the blunt blows forgotten
by me, the child, easily bearable now
given to the sky, the abyss that holds our words
beloved, loved, imagined, real, regardless - art
