feeling like im being used

theres a sort of emptiness there
after i had been far too charitable with my heart
lost where i landed
not knowing where to start

i keep painting on my wrist
missing the sky
when it was an abyss
and hating you for running away with it

he asked me what the picture was of
i dont know.
i was hoping she would tell me
the sky is black

tell me why i dont hate that
or miss the stars floating back
you paint until the color is gone
hoping soon, the words will come

and bring me back to the right head space
hoping all these thoughts will as well erase