I clutch this can of paint with my grip

A relic of time that has started to slip

Leftover from my walls, a faded dream

A mix of white and red, a vibrant scheme

I once yearned for a color, delicate and true

But fears held me back, unsure what to do

I feared living in a pig's belly kind of hue

So, I hid the can away, keeping it from view

But now something's wrong, it's boiling inside

Bubbling and rumbling, a secret it can't hide

The lid pops open, I try to keep it closed

I fight to contain it, so nobody knows

Duct tape won't hold, it slips away

I can't throw it out, not today anyway

If it leaks, they'll think it's blood and they'll be terrified

So, I guard it closely, it keeps me occupied

I tried every option, but fate intervened

The paint spilled out, a sight unforeseen

I put down the paper, to catch the flow

And out of those lines, a story started to grow

Thick lines of paint, big letters they form

A poem emerges, weathered and worn

It's beautiful, tragic, with melancholy strain

About longing for freedom and about seething pain

Now let that paint spill, let the words be told

In this unexpected moment, my tale unfolds

A can of paint, a vessel for art

Telling my story about falling apart