Black :A hue of death and grave.
Dark and deadly handling all of it steadily.
Black is not sad.
Bright colours are so..empty.
Black is poetic.
Black where romanticism pictured is graceful.
All that is cracked is hidden inside it. Absence of every colour is black so does she.
Reckless black hearts she has ever known are now the badges she lives by turning into ashes, trying to turn white unable to leave their tinge.
l hate black hearts.
l repeat.
A hue that won't show what's dead inside,what seeps into the soul encovered.
Ah man! they can't see.
How do you imagine a poet?
In a bright yellow jacket? Probably not.
How won't I wear black when I am sensitive to energies but still choose to let it hurt until it doesn't hurt anymore........
BEHIND THE TEXS
By Aira_journal
An anthology of all the poems I wrote for the the boy whose silent treatment made me a writer.This book is a... More