I'm not made of vibrant colors,
I'm made of a black ink,
But amidst the chromatographic alcohol.
I show my colors in layers,
the lightest in the outermost,
but as you pierce deeper,
you find a blackened soul,
A soul, blackened with anguish.
You see my decieving smile,
look once, into my eyes,
you'll find a hollow fear,
the fear of my secrets.
Wasn't always blackened,
this heart of mine,
those colours, stripped away from me,
reaping blood from the surface,
were put on me as a hide.
But once taken,
never did they heal,
the hopeless agony of mine.
This hide, a rainbow,
enwraps my blackened heart,
for nobody wants to see,
a heart clad in gloom.
Everybody seeks a heart of light.
So I burn the vestige of love left in me,
burn it into ashes,
as you see the hollow redness,
of my burning sight.
After I've burnt,
please leave and corner it with dust,
for the dull grey ash has
only the warmth of cold ice,
nothing more.
Please take it,
the warmth.
Please take it away and leave,
That is all I beseech from you,
that is all I beseech...
Love, S. S. Jacques
YOU ARE READING
Broken Thoughts..
PoetrySome poems for all those who live only the basis of their own cathartic emotions.....emotions for love, for life, and for at least, death...
