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The Colour Of Love
My pain
A painting of shame
Upon these white walls of stature
So statute, so still, motionless
My heart bleeds but only tears fall
As I portray this vivid pain
A portrait
So poor in trait
As I pour out my heart
Of all these techerous traits
And yearn for what once remained
A trace of love,
Embodied in colourless contours
Whilst I dry out this pain
All I feel is this fear of fearing what I truly feel
A feeling so clear
But only clouded by pain,
My picture, my painting
my portrait, my pain
