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the painter.

The boy was an artist
His emotions melting into shades
Sad blues, ecstatic greens
Passionate purples, and numbing yellows

His canvas was always wet
For his emotions ran thick
Colors bled together
For one big drip

One night he sat
Paintbrush heavy and wet
And let yellow stain the page
Flexing and dimming in bright

He kept it there, the yellow
Until no color remained
The canvas began drying
Until he stopped picking the brush up

Another boy came
An artist of similar sort
Watching careful the canary canvas
He smiled pale pink

He sat next to the expainter
Days passing them by
Nights passing longer
The piece was drying up

Then one night
With only one wet spot
The painter dipped his finder in red
And yellow began to fade

One finger, two
Five fingers, two hands
Four hands, two bodies
The yellow was not quite the same

The canvas grew bigger
The canvas became the walls
The canvas became people
And the people became painters

I like to paint sometimes
Circles of yellow and blue
But when the circles grow close together
I throw in red too