Exposed to her inner thighs
I just want to tell her I
Sit and sip this Spanish wine
I just want to breathe her air again
Fantasy or reality
Let’s forget these fallacies
Hand claps
Stuck in amazement
Growing pains
Aching brains
Painting this picture
Faint brush strokes
I don’t know
old colours come true
I don’t want to lose you
So I mix and mix
Hoping to get the right balance
The right blend
But I’m inconsistent
You see the density always changing
Life changing
Thoughts of hanging up my brush forever
Find a different path
You know it’s really hard
Standing in the rain
Knocking
Looking in but no one answering
Pouring dripping stressed depressed
Still feeling this mourning pain
Still I’m the one to blame
I’m walking away
It’s all a shame
It’s all gone to flames
Life
I’m at an incredible stage
Endorphin ridden
Wishing I got more
The last ounce
Maybe I want more
One last bucket left
Do I try or not
Knowing I could get more or not
Constant paradox that life
Should I get more or not
Processed thought
What colours next?
You tell me
This is the chronicles of her
But at the same time the chronicles of me
Pick up my crushed heart
And resurrect my broken brush
Paint my future
And blow a kiss to the present
As I get over my past
So what is?
To be continued
The French Chronicles 