A colour blind artist, how ironic I think to myself. Seeing everything in black and white... a realist.
Then you came along, trailing behind you was colour..a sort of brightness. I began to see it all, you had opened up my eyes... but you were just a simple guy.
How had you just changed my world I had asked. A four letter word. Love. Now I was just an artist.
Then love turned to L for lies. Everything just black. The pink ink fading from my pen into a dark gloomy colour.
I said a colour blind artist... how ironic, this is a deja vu.
-JB
YOU ARE READING
Sweet and sour feelings
PoetryThis is a poetry book filled a with a lot of original poems written by me. The dark times, the sour times and also the sweet times. A lot of feelings dipped on my pen and scribbled on my paper or my computer keys.
