the flower buds never bloomed,
the end of season are screwed.
the paintings are still wet,
and the soft hue of sunrise peeking through the curtain.
all of the colors has been drained,
and all of the wilted flowers been replaced.
you closed the blind,
and hide behind those walls.
the name of the paintings never been spoken, nor been realised.
but all of the splatter stained,
leaving a trail of regrets of the painter.
- J, unspoken paintings.
the end of season are screwed.
the paintings are still wet,
and the soft hue of sunrise peeking through the curtain.
all of the colors has been drained,
and all of the wilted flowers been replaced.
you closed the blind,
and hide behind those walls.
the name of the paintings never been spoken, nor been realised.
but all of the splatter stained,
leaving a trail of regrets of the painter.
- J, unspoken paintings.