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?