My mess of paints 

A whisper of green,

A whisper of blue.

They fill my vision.

And I scratch them off my mind.

But the hue lingers,

And the residue sinks,

Into a mess of colours,

That haunts my waking dreams.

They cling to my inner skull.

They spoil my dreaming neurons.

My palette knife keeps scratching,

And bruises my inner brain. 

I can hear the knife scratching.

My skull is the prison

And out drill the splash of paint!

Dear Lord, my torment…

When shall the hue of lust faint? 

 

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