break on the sky

i ask him about photographs and he tells me about details we always forget to capture. it’s easy to love when you go so high you forget to see down. i ask him about hurt and he tells me how hearts only bleed red when promises break faster than glass. it’s easy to believe when the sky is blue. i ask him about love and he talks about me.
—  k.m

Picasso said he’d paint with his own wet tongue
on the dusty floor of a jail cell if he had to.

We have to create.
It is the only thing louder than destruction.
It’s the only chance the bard are gonna break,
our hands full of color
reaching towards the sky,
a brush stroke in the dark.

It is not too late.
That starry night
is not yet dry.

—  Andrea Gibson, The Madness Vase