Ink
Each stroke of the brush
Leaves an impression behind
Colors filling the gaps
Between the darkest designs
To make me cry. Is no
challenge.
To make you cry. That's not
possible
Were these things a matter of
the heart?
Or simply loose thoughts of the
mind?
A looming grave lies open
ready to bury these memories
In every hug, with every kiss
They were each heavily laced
with poisonous lies
Was I really so naive
To believe what you told me?
As the portrait grows ever
longer
The colors go from richest to
the dullest
The beautiful designs
Fade into nothing but pointless
scribbles
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