Grabbing my shades of yellow,
I used to paint the sun,
that peeped up from low valleys
when the day had just begun.
Then I took all hues of blue,
and filled them in the sky
where a lonely tree would stand,
and the birds would sing and fly.
The greens I saved for grasses,
and the reds were for the flowers,
But now in place of all these things,
now stand sky reaching towers.
And I thought I couldn't paint,
for I grew up and lost my art,
but I know my brush still aches,
for the colors dear to my heart.
So bring me blues skies if you can,
and I'll paint from sun to ground.
But the truth is that I cannot paint,
because my colors can't be found.

If you ask me what revenge looks like,
I'd answer that it's like a dry leaf,
for it has lost all of it's colors
to the heartbreaks, pain and grief.
So now it'll take it's own revenge,
without any hint or clue,
because when the dry leaves fall,
it's an admirable autumn for you.
The leaves will fall over your head,
and under your feet, you'll crumble some
But autumns are not just beautiful,
they're a promise of the winter to come.
So when the leaves gave up to gravity,
they brought winter along with them.
Now the cold is here to **** you,
with winds full of mayhem.

Your poetry's a symphony
Every line a new note.
You voice weaves a melody
Each syllable brings hope.
For poets have a magic
No other artist knows.
A way with emotions
A window to souls.

I knit all of my breaths together,
collect them and name them 'life'.
It helps me to wake up everyday
and not slit my wrists with a knife.
I survive and breathe and feel,
and it's hard but I keep on trying,
to fake a smile every now and then,
while on the inside I am dying.
But I learned that art is a good friend,
It stays along no matter the weather.
And maybe I have my art too;
I can be alive and dead - together.

People say a lot of things
and think what they say is true,
but don't worry, you're not alone
They told things to me too.

They told me that I'm a human,
so my life can feel like hell.
I told them that I'm a human,
so I can heal as well.

Don't try to hold my hands,
because our hands would never fit.
Love is just an unknown guest,
and my house has no space for it.

Don't try to hold my hands,
because my hands are dead and burned,
from those who loved and held it,
but left and never returned.

Don't try to hold my hands,
maybe I don't deserve it anyway,
because my heart is a cold place
where you wouldn't like to stay.

Don't try to hold my hands,
isn't that what I always say?
Then why does my heart not like it,
when you have walked away?