Jan 27, 2018
Colour
He lay there.. in the padded room, knifes slicing through him. Colour seeped into the white pillows.
He did always love colour. The meanings, the expression. Every stroke another word. Every image a fairy tale.
And here he was...in a puddle of rainbow. The stories of his life. Spilling from him like rain on the window.
Every red- a pain Every blue- a worry Every yellow- a happiness...
Every colour a peice of him..
Dribbling off the blades. The room had become his canvas, and he was the brush. Slowly coating it until he could move no longer.
Vision a haze as the paint dripped from the ceiling. Chocking on the stuff in his lungs.
He'd always loved colour.
Pity no one loved his..