Trust for me is like an enigma, an enigma that im working so radically hard to solve, an enigma that's draining all the colours and life within me.
I look at all the faces passing by me, how their faces are all painted black and white, how the faded colours of their faces are concealed by masks, masks that look even more worn than their original faces.
I realize I'm the only one not wearing a mask, the only one with a tinge of colour embedded within her face.
I see them all rushing towards me with their hungry eyes, yearning to steal the lightest colour that I have.
They rush towards me and I struggle to escape, they're surrounding me, hovering around me like a pack of famished dogs.
They don't know what trust feels like anymore, they're faces are drained and hollow.
They attack and abuse me, till my face becomes bleak, dreary and gloomy, a lifeless figure that's replete with the dull shades of black and white.
I realize that now, I fail to comprehend the concept of trust, that now, trust issues are all I see, a world of black and white, and as much as I close my eyes and reopen them, trying to break free. Trying to restore back the colour I once had.
Black and White is all I see.
YOU ARE READING
Rosētum
PoetryHere lie the roses, the roses that are the foundation of my rose garden, pluck them gingerly, here lie the roses that grew full of toxins and purity. Here lies my heart, My Rosetūm. All pictures in the story are mine!
