I painted a mural with my tongue 

and cried as every stroke 

left me insecure. 

Not of beauty, that’s for sure.

***

A rough ruined stage, my little face

hidden under silken drapes.

I loved it once,

***

do you?

***

The site bears the weight

of hissing colors

unchanged by new eyes,

I crossed two fingers and closed mine.

But wet paint tore

the sky

and streaks of me 

became the sacrifice.

Blood-mixed paint 

in crevices.

***

A slight gasp –

did I create a god

and left him

to scrub paint stains?