She gazes at me from across the room,
Caged in a prison of glass and wooden
Bars from the headboard of my bed,
Her eyes are reflective, and she seems
Quite disoriented by the move –
Framed, she no longer fits on bedside wall.
Her wiry hair is flicked wetly across her face,
And her gaze is sad, contemplative,
But still, oddly, it is not quite despairing.
Her place on my wall seems bare,
But for the sticky blue tack
And murkily dusty fingerprints,
But I cannot, will not replace her,
Not yet, not now, not her;
For I still bear the weight of my guilt.
I painted her shedding tears,
In washed out, dreary colours –
A reflection of deeply felt emotion
But 'twas my emotion,
My misery condemning her;
Caught in an eternity of weeping paint –
A/N – the picture was getting slightly torn so I framed it, but it didn't fit on the wall by my bed where it had been tacked up previously, so the painting got moved to opposite my bed.