1-19 One Of Us

where were his eyes?
his soft eyes?

why had he mashed them,
together, with the paint,
with his fingers, scraping.
with the paint, with his fingers,
together, across the canvas,
why

didn't he let us see,
him, why show us this?
three times,

he rips it
from us splashing,
three times,
thick  layering viscous movements
of three,

did he not love him?
did he not love him?
did he not want the world to love him?

was he afraid, like the rest of us,
afraid, lathered in color, dripping, afraid
tired of fighting the three he saw inside of us,
afraid,

to smile, to frown, to
scream, with his never now soft eyes
missing,

nervous, I sat down, wondering,
crossing my ankles to keep them
from shaking the mirror across
from me in angles and forms
betrayed welded together broken
forms shaking in angles crossing
nerves wondering why I was sitting
down across from a mirror when I
should be

with the paint, his fingers, scraping,
lathered, dripping, tired of fighting
his soft eyes watching me brushing
the hair from my