Our love was like this paint's colour,
that newly wed couples debate to put of the wall,
old, bold, new or blue,
experimenting with all we could.
That intoxicating smell of fresh paint
for me,
but a suffocating invasion of space
for you.
A memoir of our time,
with cute doodles, mocking eyes, and drunk scribbles,
an occasional lipstick stain or excessive perfume spray,
thrusting nails, and Styx for smashed bottles' and glasses' dismay,
the pretty paint lived it all.
I won't deny peeling it off little by little,
and you won't deny scratching it,
till the lifeless paint and cement fell every day on our coats,
little by little.
luckily,
when the paint grew old,
and the iron inside gathered mold,
and the bricks beneath rusted to their core,
and the building all collapsed, leaving alone the tight door.
You and me stood outside,
like strangers who accidentally bumped
into each other on a busy street,
asking each other
if we had the key,
to open the homeless door.
YOU ARE READING
Stains
PoetryHi, this is my first Wattpad entry, this is going to be a poetry book, I hope you enjoy what I put out here and please do vote for me if you like my pieces, open to constructive criticism, Thank you for your time!
