There's green inside of me,
The perfect shade of jealousy.
There's red inside of me,
A burning spark of rage.
There's black inside of me,
Reflecting my withered soul.
There's gray inside of me,
For the hole without hope.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry Collection
PoetryPoetry is art that's felt, not seen. It's a means of painting pictures and emotions through words. This is a collection of the poems I write occasionally. I hope you enjoy.
