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“ My life feels so faded and dull ,
I miss my people ,
whom I once called friends .”
“ Yes ,
they were the colours in your life ,
you were the painter .
You put those colours on your canvas ,
you added one shade ,
removed two ,
mixed three .
You painted it the way it suited you ,
and like this . .
your painting kept changing ,
and will keep changing ,
from one kind of combination
to another .
But the canvas will change never ,
it will always be
just the same
underneath ”
“ c a n v a s ” , hummed she . .
smirked he and said ,
“ Hmm , canvas . .
I am your canvas ,
my painter girl . ”
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[If this girl's words have
touched your soul ,
matter not how faint
the sensation felt ,
would you mind dears ?
if she wished for you to tap on that minuscule star beneath
and send kudos to her ,
please ?] :)
YOU ARE READING
into her phenakistoscope
Poetry«« when her life was at a halt , an illusion of motion was created and in her dreamlike state , her reality and her imagination met and gave her a blurred vision , her phantasmagoria took birth where her soul saw dreams of a...
