Her nose takes shape,

bursting forth from

the stark white of my canvas.

Perfectly straight.

Perfectly rounded

-

I won't paint her imperfections

I will paint not what she sees

In reflection

But the image that she keeps

Folded within her heart

-

Because in her mind

And in all of ours

She is flawless

-

Jeering eyebrows form

Dark and heavy

Too high of a contrast

Against the pale of her cheeks

And yet befitting her rounded face

-

She is too pale

Like death had let breath

Slip in her course

-

Though I've never touched her

Never exhaled in her direction

For that breath stays locked within my chest

Immovable whenever she gazes back

With those blue eyes

-

Blue, piercing, angry, glaring, evil, beautiful eyes.

-

Her ruby lips underneath that nose

that stays waiting on my canvas

Painted as if from her bloody corpse that lay

Rotting beneath my broken feet

-

Though I'd never touched her

Never cast her through

that dark sheet of death

That now lay heavy over

Her beautiful blue child's eyes

-

Children's eyes

A child's eyes who held within

An eternity of dead souls

-

Eyes from a murderous girl

That now herself lay murdered

But not by my hand

Never by my hand

-

Because I've never touched her

Because her blood doesn't

Stain my hand

But pools around my feet

-

A deep ruby red

Like her lips on my canvas

Her perfect, imperfect lips

Painted dripping on my canvas

-

But that paint stains my hands

That very ruby red

That looks just like,

Though not quite,

The liquid that spills

-

From the neck of that girl

I never touched

Never placed a hurtful hand upon

-

Still I've prepared a Child's Blue

For the blue in that child's eyes

A perfect, imperfect Child's Blue

That matches

However ominously

With our sky

-

I dip these deep red hands of mine

Into that Child's Blue

And paint that child's blue eyes

Not blue

But violet like my heart