Painted

She was loved a lot, adored by all
With an endless line of friends
They paint on her, yellow sunshine
And write, "Friends till the end"
A splash of pink, a drop of love
Dries still upon her heart
No one would suspect a thing
From this walking work of art

In her mind they sling,
a fit of bloody red
They don't see the blackness
They've caked inside her head
A slice of green slashed through her heart
A careless spill of hate
They accuse and bring her down
and say, "accept your fate."

Carefully they peel away
The years of mixed up colors
Slowly washing clean the truth
And paintings from the others
An accidental drop of blue
Paints tears in happy eyes
A weak attempt to start off new
And paint over the lies

They scrub and scrub and scrub until
They see not skin, but bone
Without her paint, nothing but white
She's nothing all alone...

She hides her bones in shame and cries
A scream of mortal fear
The pain of paint washed off her back
Her end is growing near

She curled around her bony frame
"Please paint on me!" she said
They laughed and threw their brushes down
"We don't paint upon the dead."