Some say
Pain is black and white.
They're wrong.
Pain is a rainbow,
A pattern of red and blue and purple,
Dancing across your skin.
It is the broken pink
Hidden beneath the sorrow.
Pain is the dark nights
Where the colors twirl
Behind closed lids.
Pain is the yellow
Of alone,
The orange
of a broken sun.
Pain is a brush stroke in the sky.
Pain is black and white.
They're wrong.
Pain is a rainbow,
A pattern of red and blue and purple,
Dancing across your skin.
It is the broken pink
Hidden beneath the sorrow.
Pain is the dark nights
Where the colors twirl
Behind closed lids.
Pain is the yellow
Of alone,
The orange
of a broken sun.
Pain is a brush stroke in the sky.
So, this is just a pattern-thing I did to go with my poem. What do you think?
