| Coloring the canvas black, Made to match my bleak existence, Twisted images of all I lack, Created by unnamed persistence. But the picture I taint, With my deep red blood, And as the black becomes faint, The tears I've shed begin to flood. So the picture washes away, In this sea of blood and tears. But the image of it will always stay. With me for all of my years. The canvas of black, Matching my bleak existence. The twisted images of all I lack, Created by unnamed persistence. |
| Canvas |
 |
 |