Sorry I have made

I have painted my walls red

and left some running

down to touch the carpet.

The darkened brush bristles shedded in the process

like Autumn leaves,

or Mother’s hair.

I couldn’t help

but stain the white

and old skirting board.

It was bubbled and wrinkled

from time and layers

of the same white paint strokes-

now struck

with the colour and eagerness of my brush.

~*~

At night, they shone loud and burnt

through the flesh of my closed eyes.

With boney fingers,

they reached through

and picked at my dreams.

They held them from me.

~*~

Now,

I have smothered

with my bristles

to take back what is mine,

to do more than you want me to.

Sorry I have made,

but I have finally made.