There’s nothing I can find, nothing to behold,
A blank empty canvass when I think of you and it all,
Sitting in my bedroom no one wonders why,
a young teenage girl sits at her computer desk to cry.
And even when I try painting pictures to fill it up,
All that I am left with is splotch after dirty splotch,
Insignificance being the only way to hold true,
I wash off the splotches with the water crossing my cheeks.
And again the walls turn to a serene and empty white.
And I never learn, til now,
that the only way to stay,
Is to learn to love empty, white hot hurt.
Even if escape was possible would hidden hope come through,
before the gates closed, locked and the key was thrown away?
You delivered one wall of white hot fury, but after that you were gone,
So don’t blame yourself for my confused, empty blankness.
Three more walls were delivered:
One by a calming demon past,
One by many demons laughing, ignorant that I was stuck fast,
And the final wall was built around my cage by her, the one you know so well the one that thought she broke your heart.
But it was the beautiful figure lying dormant and tortured in that god forsaken place.
And your helplessness to stop it and the feeling that your hand had passed down her fate.
So I lie in my cage, blank and empty follow it everywhere,
And I know I had hoped it was gone, erased from me with colour and angelics.
But a white coat of paint performs the last and empty wrong,