Wanting Pain

I miss the delicate touch of the brush

The bold strokes that were made

Dark, light, high and low

My hands now shivers

And the mind still ignores

Yet the heart shouts out from the core

The feeling is faint and tired

But its attempts were strongly wired

I still miss the lovely scent of the paint

And the standing canvas

Standing empty and white

Only tempts me to paint a yellow strike

And the behind scenery that's waiting to get captured on my painting

Everything is there still

Only me who avoiding her priceless skills

I can feel the tears coming up to the brim

Yet they get stopped at the standstill

No one cares or looks at this

So that the self is not ready to share

The ruling pain that kills

And I miss all these ornaments 

That reveals my true identity.