Paint on a canvas

Each stroke leaves a streak of color in its wake

Some are thicker and some may be mistakes

The bright lines of reds and pink that belong to the canvas begin to pile

Claiming it

The pigmented color begins to swallow it whole as the paint begin to run down edes

Making a mess of it

The paint drips slowly on to the floor with a splat

The puddle grows as one does to stop but continues to pile the paint on the canvas that has no room for paint

But this is why the canvas was made, to be coated by paint, lines, and splatters of color,

Reds

Purples

Browns

They all engulf a canvas as they should

Mistakes or not they paint the canvas 

Every spot tells a tale

Some darker than others 

Some are a call for help 

Others are a reminder of moments that you wish to forget 

But even when the canvas drys and there is no more paint to run down its sides the previous marks will always be there to tell the story...