Completed. Poetry. Short story.
Amber was one of the best fine artists in town. Blessed with intelligence, she knew how to make the best use of her talent. Everybody loved her, her and her paintings.
When she was so perfect with her work, praises di...
My world turned grey, All around me, roars did say, How my soul was marred And no immorality remained barred;
I decided to do what I'm best at; My canvas showed hues of tit for tat; Indeed, it was a tranquil symphony where my art met With that angelic picture of Scarlet;
My feet calculatingly took me there Where a look of perplexity everyone did share, Where scarlet showed hopes of an apology by me Instead, destruction of her portrait into shards, she did see.
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When she walks in the door, I almost can't hold myself anymore; I want to scream and yell and let my anger show Years of my storms about she doesn't know;
She sits on my couch without any request, She gives me a smile she has practised best; She politely asks mefor some tea, But that can't stop her gloom from peeping at me;
Scarlet is never good at camouflaging her feels, Her stammering words stumble out of her seals; And when I see her fisted knuckles turn white, I realise I wasn't the only one affected by my plight.
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