The Empty Canvas

Someone painted out the dawn.
Three black windows, four locked eyes,
Five more versions of my lies.
The frame that ate me is tightening again.
It bends around my shoulders.
It crawls beneath my skin.
I can hear the canvas whisper.
I can feel the colors move.
Every time I try to leave it.
It creates another room.
The frame that ate me.
The frame that knows me.
Better than I ever knew.
Single heartbeat.
Take my hands, they are not mine.