Red is its initial color.
                          Lovely and brilliant.
The Sun smiles so radiant.
                            The flowers bloom.
The butterflies came to visit.

Unfortunate events occured.

'Twas stabbed until it bleeds Blue.                    
                               Cold and distant.
The Moon sheds a dim light.
             The flowers started wilting.
The butterflies slowly drifting.

The clock tictacs.

Its color turns to Black.
                                Dark and empty.
Drowned by the flood.
      The flowers been washed away.
The butterflies didn't stay.
          All of them have flown away.

Words like stones, thrown not in anger, but in casual disregard.
A leash disguised as love, chipping away at the edges, until you barely recognize the reflection staring back.

Guilt, a weapon wielded with practiced ease.
A love that burns not brightly, but coldly, consuming you within, like a cold flame.
The slow death of a soul, popping depression pills like TicTacs, sipping the problems away, watching as the **** smokes.

You can’t physically cry anymore, the scars are a reminder of the battle fought, but they don’t define the victory to come. Instead of a happy warming crackle of the flame; what it’s supposed to be, it is shivering subtle whispers in your head. Instead of the comforting light glow it is supposed to give, it gives off a silent, dark, blue, soul crushing glow. It is a flame fed from tears and heartbreak and can only be put out by fate or arising happiness.
Lets have it out…

A cold flame.
Lost souls arise in shame,
Tear by tear, log by log,
Fear upon fear, fog upon fog.
Don’t breath it in, you will suffocate in despair
Until you eventually run out of air,
No other death can compare,
You see your life in just a little flare,
And all other people do is stare.
Deep within the flame lies sorrow and guilt,
Not a single peep or sound of lilt.
The flame does not catch things on fire,
Instead it consumes life until it is simply dryer.
The flame only lives in your mind,
But the effects are worse than a warm flame and death combined,
But yet people still would go through it to find that bind.
It whispers promises soft and low,
But leaves a sting, a bitter blow.
The warmth it lacks, a hollow space,
Where empathy should hold its place.
The smoke it breaths, a choking haze,
Obscuring truth in a blinding maze.
Throwing alcohol or drugs on the table,
Will only leave you mentally unstable.
You wait and wait for the cold flame to go out,
But it will only sprout,
Leading you to only doubt,
Ending you until all you can do is shout.