COLORS.

trois

mess

in the dull walls of your apartment,

coated with nothing but the sadness of your own

and rage and anger of the man i love,

you sat there with your paint brush,

trying to paint in such a painful state.

maybe it was the foul scent

of paints that scattered on the tiled floor.

or the burnt canvases in a small pile

that used to be oh so beautiful portraits

and imagines of such exquisite places.

or the cramped pigments that stained

the white panels,

where those artworks used to hang on.

or maybe it was the soft sobs, 

and the desperate flailing of your hands,

reaching out desperately,

as if the light that the moon gives you

was the only thing that could save you.

how wrecked you were, yoongi

i could tell.

the small cries that leaves your lips

were horrifying and heart-breaking

as if like no matter how loud you scream,

the hands of air choked your throat,

and no help could hear.

the heat beneath my eyes

stirred a few tears out,

as trembling hands covered my mouth.

but i know,

the excessive shaking of my knees,

and when i retched out a silent sob,

i'll plummet into a pitiful breakdown,

just watching you fall into tiny pieces.

you were such a mess,

everything about you resembles chaos.

mind in disarray, muddled emotions,

fractured hopes and dreams.

but i am aware,

that i myself wasn't as tidy.