Time heals all wounds

Or so they say, yet tell me

Why, oh why does it still hurt

My heart pains at the thought of it.

I can't breathe, my vision lost to the blur of lightheadedness

I feel faint, yet, I do not stop

I see the light, yet, all I see is red.

A masterpiece in mind, a pallette in hand

The painter looms over the board

With uncertainty in his eyes

He looks to his Muse

With a face made of a goddess

What more could be drawn but a masterpiece

He begins, takes to his art, and she to her pose

He leans back, checking his Muse, mastering her pose

He finishes up, with the red of paint, her auburn hair