Graffiti

Graffiti from your eyes
tells the story of war,
as the paint spills out
onto broken hardwood floor.

I can't get past
what you once called art.
What really was some one's attempt
to cover up your heart.

You say it made you beautiful,
but the colors rot the wood.
And your blank stare that's left behind
whispers dreams it never could.

So cry out every last drop,
every hue.
And as I fall into your eyes,
I see their true color, blue.