The Cubist Surrender

She painted a picture.
With beautiful reds.
Warm, inviting, but not
intimidating.

she could not satisfy
herself.
Or her paintbrush.

So she splashed in a few blues.

Not the blue of a bright sky.
but the blue of a restless
And reckless
Sea.
See?

Then she topped the canvas in green.
Grassy knolls and grassy soles
And souls
made a masterpiece.

she turned to the sink
To clean her brush.
And realized there was nothing there.

Even their there wasn't theirs anymore.

bloody hands.
tear-stained cheeks.
and envy-tinted eyes.

There was no easel.
Because good can't stand on good intentions.

And there is no canvas.
Because she tore her to shreds.