Like we never knew each other at all

I know that you're an artist, the hardest one to deal with. Everything you conceal is revealed on your canvas. You find all of your ugly meanings in the things I find beautiful. Do you see the fall is coming? You painted me in pastel, colors that don't tell of any boldness. That's the way you'd love to see me: so delicate, so weak, so little purpose. Your eyes are black so cold, they're so imperfect. They see a sleeping world, where waking isn't worth it. How, can you live without your lies?