White

A tone, an absorption of colour. A clean slate, the colour of rage The parts of the eyes that you aim for before you die Crash-Bang Flash You are in the unknown, unafraid, heaven close enough that you can finally see the clarity on a page. I'm sorry that I stutter, my hands gittering with my heart clanging as I touch the marble in which we are made, to build ourselves up from transparent ashes. I am the colour of lies-seen as a harmless thing, sending away rays of refracting light. The last thing you see when you die- I'm sorry that I'm not as soft as I used to be, like the white chocolate that bleeds from the fondue fountain You never never liked me on my own I am alone. A piece of art, that is before you decide to make a change, an empty canvas, always a start unclean after the stain, never taken as I am. I am not an often used pencil, I am ignored unless the situation calls for it. I am told that I am the goal of purity and the colour of religion. A colour that is "represented", but I have never felt so alone. How often do you think of me? I am the intimidation and untouched higher goal of creators I'd give my entirety to be colourful again to stop being an erased stain. A tone that is mistaken as a colour, just as I am mistaken for mentally healthy, the same. It is a refraction but can never stand alone a relatable highlight because just like the colour I was given I am just here to brighten others works, others paintings, shadings on black paper to stand out and brighten the way for others- But never my own. I am the colour white