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The love is black, the love is a suit

meant to conceal the complexion of your soul but it fails

it's so dark it's pale,

A sharp eye will always be the threat to a silhouette

the end to a dark figure that is still owed death,

the pristine glisten of your polished shoes,

a cluttered closet in your conscience waiting to demolish you..

The love is blue, the love is a tear

that precedes the rainbow of a pain so deep

it can drown in its own sea,

then form an abyss which becomes a pail

we use to contain our watery veil..

of emotions, eye contact is an exchange of oceans..

The love is pink, the love is a tongue

as you choke on the taste of it's too late

the swansong of life is now sung

compiled as "the words we never said"

a well known number one record to the dead..

The love is read, the love is a flower

a fossil of years on Earth we wasted

a thorny truth within our matrix

a life form we allow to grow

infuse it with our feelings then we let it go

I know it probably wonders what we'll never know..

why we hate up here but give the love below.

- bloodtheauthor
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