Painted Judas
A plastered wall painted figures of us told the story the way I thought
it was supposed to go.
Strayed away from the pre-told stories of your betrayal.
Faithful people know your name and how you lost your way— Judas.
We were supposed to believe in one another, but my prayers weren't enough
to hold us together.
Lost faith in our religion.
It was a bond meant for our love to grow, but you saw my punctured hands
and damaged heart, so you ran.
Painted in your favorite colors; blue, red, green, and everything but me.
Looking into your hieroglyphic eyes the pain you left behind were my broken pieces.
Vision blurred but I could feel the one place the last of you stayed in my heart.
I plunged my hands into paint pails caressing the insides of this chamber
with my personality and my grip on this world melts with these once
virgin walls.
Every part of you claimed the walls inside my heart but fury filled eyes
make it possible to erase you ever existed in or outside of my heart.
My tears of passion, heavy breaths like those leaving my lungs
the day you left and burning fingertips that hurt less than the poisoned
words that slip from your mouth.
My nails cut through your bleeding-heart leaving traces of blue paint
streaming down our work of art.
The plastered wall no longer tells our story it waits for mine to take flight.
The insides of my chamber have healed for they have been painted a beautiful gold.
Hope you never have these holes in your hands they almost sacrificed my life—
so, you could live.
