He commands the room against his will

Dressed in a dark green sweater

and tired eyes

He picks up his weapon-the mighty paintbrush-

and it smiles knowingly,

perhaps evilly

at him

He shudders, but nods

puts pain to paper and begins to create

suddenly

the room melts away

just him and the canvas

this is not a public display of affection

this is intimacy in the worst way possible

because now

the canvas knows him like no one has ever known him

his hopes

his dreams

his fears

crash onto the paper in strokes of

yellow

green

blue

like fresh blood on snow

he gives and feels until

there is no more left and

suddenly

he is done

his work here is done

he shakes his head at the emotion splattered out before him

In a world of liars

it is someone's job to vomit truth.