Let the words paint a picture,
Let the sky bleed its auburn horizon.
As the sun sees you in your room,
Hiding. . .
Crying. . .
Tries all the tears of your skies.
Fears all of men’s spies.
Paint me my pain.
Please. . .
Don’t let all my wounds heal again.
It will be the colors
Which will be my gallery
To see my selfish gain that which can be attained,
All of it can start again when I leave the day to sleep,
And mourn at night and let them see,
How their mouths affect. . .
How all of it infect,
When they keep my pain intact.
Knowingly it starts again and again.
Sorry out of images, illustrations, drawings on this one.