Painter vs. Poet

He is the painter
I'm just the poet
He creates beauty
I try to grow it
I sit and think
I sit and drink
I sit and stare at the drain in the sink
And I watch the paint
As it washes away
He cleanses the reds
His hands have been stained
He turns off the sink
Then turns away
I sit and think
While the brushes decay

I stare at his canvas
Puerile and plain
I stare at my notebook
Putrid, defamed
And realize our passion
Cannot be the same
For he is the fire
And I smother flame

He is the muse
I'm just the pest
He brings inspiration
While I bring unrest
I watch him build
I watch him shape
I watch him love
And I start to hate
As he captures her features
And mine dissipate
And the subject I was
Seems nothing so great
He fills in her color
And I am left bare
I watch him sculpt glory
As I scribble despair

He is the painter
I'm just the poet
Each stroke that he makes
Covers up what I wrote
I sit and think
I sit and drink
I sit and stare
At the drain in the sink
And I watch my ink
As it washes away
I cleanse the reds
My hands have been stained
I turn off the sink
Then turn away
I sit and think
As my skin turns to gray.