My canvas was painted in black and white,
half blank, half drowning
in solitude and melancholy.
but you gave my canvas some color,
you added a few yellows and oranges
and blues and greens.
yet i should have learned
not to be color blind.
i saw your pity
as something else,
when it was only sympathy,
plain and simple.
i should have seen
that you were only made of
glass – glass that eventually
shattered, its shards flying
everywhere and piercing me.
it hurt and i wanted to
stop the pain – no more, please.
i never knew that you could be so kind
but at the same time so cruel.
