I wonder,
if pain has any color, when it comes,
covering our hearts.
Does the red still shows,
or does it change?
Perhaps, I wonder,
while it might not have a color of its own,
It has, the power,
to make the existing color darker.
So maybe my heart becomes a darker red,
when the pain comes.
And my eyes must become darker,
when I feel it.
My skin must too then,
for I feel it everywhere.
Maybe from the inside it does,
and so do my cells,
and my blood.
Everything must get darker,
when it hurts,
I think.
YOU ARE READING
The Ink Spilling From My Pen ✔
Poetry* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * The ink that spilled out of my pen formed these poetry. * ** * * * * * * * * * * ** ** * * ** * * ** * ** ** *** ** * * ** * * ** A random poetry collection that spill...
