Metaphoric Artists sing the colorless songs

Look into the ocean blue,
and there you may just find,
a treasure buried ever deep,
a treasure of the poetic kind

Did you ever wonder what happened
To the scarlet artist's brush?
Do you ever give a care,
That her heart lives in a hush?

Yes, she has stopped painting,
but you were right, dead eyes no longer see
poor little scarlet artist...
so trapped by her metaphoric reality

Do you ever hear her
when she screams her lungs out to you?
Do you ever see how
bitter red blooms from dark blue?

She tore off all the petals
daisies love her not
not pretty, not beautiful,
not good enough, not hot

Gasoline dreams burst through
conscience now burning down
she's only bitter angry,
that's why there's no tears around

Can you hear the screaming,
the white noise that fills her veins?
Do you ever wonder why she stopped painting?
it was because she no longer felt the pain

A lovelier response,
I'm sure if you looked you would find
fallen angels are so graceless
when you look into a poet's mind

So yes, she has stopped painting
all she writes is all she sees
no words to call her own
someone to save her, that's what she needs

Sorry this tired response
has become so overplayed
aim for your almost, my dear,
that's what the broken records say

Don't think too long or you'll lose it,
spontaneity is only good for so long
what happens when the color's gone,
and you can't hear the tired song?

Scream your lungs out in the pouring rain
and maybe the scarlet artist will hear...
but darling dearest she's locked up today
aloneness is the only friend she holds dear

**hahah. this is so many treasure hunts wrapped up in one poem. Go read AimingForAlmost's poems. it;ll make more sense**