Little pains

This is the canvas
Our time is painted on.

Little pains
Fill the picture
Ghosting flowers
To dried patina
Their sweetness forgotten,
Their scent lost.

This is just
A little pain,
A bump of dried colour.

My picture is full
Of little bumps,
Little pains.
I can feel them
On my skin,
Warty growths
Sprouting like mushrooms,
Making me ugly.

I want to burn them away
To sear them away
In flame
And ice;
Give me a surgeon's knife
I'll cut them away,
My little pains.

My little pains.

No!
No, let me be possessive!
Let me own
My little pains,
My little bumps.
I'll keep them
And shove my face into yours
Screaming
Look!
Look at my pain!'

Behold me
In my ugliness;
Now tell me
That you still love me.

You can't,
Can you?

Another little bump,
Little pain.
Lost
Under their blossoming
Until I am nothing

But the little bumps,
Little pains.