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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