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


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