Her body, a canvas
His fist, a brush
Her bruise, a paint
Their Colours, lush
Her silence was golden
His eyes gleamed like silver
Her petite figure formed
The elegance of a Dancer
Her bones were brittle
His knuckles were brass
Her skin was raw
His feet were sharp glass
Her lips revealed no suffering
His lips curved a wicked smile
Her laughter a little dusty
His laughter hides a pretentious guile
Her hopes of being free faded
His knuckles hits her once more
Her cheeks reddens and bruises
A beautiful scarlet and purple Colour
She was just another artwork of his
A canvas in his collection
He was the brush and she was canvas
Just that the two don't share a connection
YOU ARE READING
Painted Words
PoetryA collection of poems shorter that what I normally write. (This might be easier for me to write Coz there isn't a particular theme and will be the main book I will continue writing on.)
