A painting in a trash can
of a woman with lovely skin.
She holds in her hand a paintbrush
that creates the worlds she's in.
The years make him cold, and
the man who she belonged to
no longer hungers for.
For the great heights of triumph,
to the rivers of the low.
In the rubbish she sits,
a queen on a garbage throne.
Out side the streets are quiet,
the rain drives all inside.
A silent moment in a world,
for which a painted tear,
she cried.