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