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? 



One thought on “My mess of paints 

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