Colors of Me

Colors,

colors of me,

colors of me bleeding.

 

Painting a picture of paradise,

a blurred image I'm losing.

 

I won't believe that I'm hopeless,

I can't concieve I'm lost.

When I feel the cold,

I pretend I'm bathing in the dawn.

 

The rest of the world moves on,

when I promised I would fly.

They saw through the shadows,

and understood my defeat.

 

I was good at my ignorance,

and the world could always believe.

But even ignorance knew

I would

run away.

I would hide away,

because I couldn't make it go away.

 

Drifting eyes

with soft goodbyes,

bleeding in the colors of me.

Reviews

[Wall Hermitt]

Hello Wynter Page. This is a significantly melancholic and intriguing piece of poetry. “Painting a picture of paradise, a blurred image I’m losing”. What an excellent way of conveying the decrease of happiness, and the following stanza highlighting a sense of denial. This is overall a truly outstanding piece. Thanks for the share.

W.H.

[Wynter Page]

Thank you so much! I'm overjoyed that you liked it.