I am orange,
I’m yellow,
I’m patterned in blue,
All of this painting is done by you

You and her,
And the ones before,
Make me full of colors,
But, truly, what for?

I would leave you my heart ‘til the day that it dies,
But you choose to ignore me,
So there I lie,

Orange and yellow,
Patterns in blue,
They’re made when you feed them,
By just being you

By the way that you walk and you talk and you move,
The way that you laugh and the way you’re bent too

Twisted and painted in every which way,
It gives rules to our lives that we now must obey

No risks,
No bruises,
No scrapes,
No cuts

They leave room for infection,
But you’ve had enough,
Enough of the pain and the cruelness of life,
That makes you fall weak to the blade of a knife

I know we both view the world in this way,
But I can not say I see into your brain,
Wild and knotted and terribly dark,
You can see no more than a small little mark

The mark that this world has left on us both,
Leaving me to wonder,
“What matters most?”

Is it family or friends or the cat on your shelf?
The mark on your skin or the one you can’t help?

I suppose I won’t know,
Not ‘til I ask,
But that would leave me,
A big tattered mess

To try and force out the words that sound true,
Would be my greatest feat yet,
It would show all my blue,
The blue that you made,
On my tattered frame,
Would show like a flame,
Burning deep in a cave

But that is too harsh,
It’s a risk,
It’s a bruise,
So I keep it to myself,
And wonder if you feel it too