A rusty sun glances over the thin black line in the distance
but it does not share it's light
not for you.
In fact, the burnt orange rays only serve to remind you of the sting that lives,
thrives inside.
The warmth is not appealing when one can't feel it.
Hands on knees, palms up.
Absolute silence between here and the rest of the world.
You have sat like this so many nights into dawns
Alone.
So many days when you just could not move because your bones ached.
Your bones that seemed likely to grind into dust from the weight held within.
That awful weight that you cannot call by name,
No matter how hard you try to command it,
It slowly kills you.
Tear streaked, pensive orbs of brown,
drop from that rusty view and for the millionth time,
dully do they note the maker's marks.
As if they simply just appeared.
The culprit silently slips from your fingertips.
A young, cream-hued canvas, splashed with color.
Pink and Red.