Paint.

It only took one hand
to knock the can
and make it fall.
A single line of red clings,
still wet upon the shadowed wall.

Spilt paint to some;
a catastrophe for others.

Still that red line clings,
silent and still, upon a matchstick hall -
and whilst being built upon the sands,
never were there any plans,
for what to do should the tide make it fall.

Beneath.

You think you understand,
but you have no idea -
if your eyes were to catch
sight of a murky lake,
you'd act as if it was clear.

"I can see the sands and
what lays upon it.
I can see the sands and
all that is beneath."
- but be careful,
for once said words
are weapons no man
can sheath.

Thin.

I'm not sure what I have faith in.
All I know
is that it's starting to wear thin.

Fingerprints.

A blast from the past
blows my finger prints away.
Identity theft -
"Please stop her before it's too late!"

A chest bereft of a heart
would never stop beating -
but only because it would never start.

We act like we don't make our own fate -
waiting for the reel to finally reach the good part.

We ignore our own consequences -
and hide behind rhyme or comedy.

But the truth is never far behind
and for that there is no remedy.

A blast from the past
blows my finger prints away.
But no matter what she may do
her prints will always stay.

Anger.

The dull light flickered,
and then conquered my desk.
I was not alone,
for I was not the one writing:
my rage gripped the pen so tight
as if to never let go.

Words crumbled into a scribble
as the pages started sliding;
a single sheet fell to the ground,
a single sheet fell gliding.

Your name clung to the page in bold
and caught my eye as it landed on a sculpture -
a parody of a lion, its mouth imitating biting...
But I had no time for that,
for I was not alone
and I was not the one writing.

Apocalyptic.

"The world is going to end next year!
and if not that year,
it'll definitely be the next year following."
And every time a doom-sayer appears
people get mouths for ears -
look at that the "truths" that they're swallowing.

It's like they want to believe that the world will end -
morbid curiosity taken way too far.
I almost hope that they're right, so I could see them fend
for themselves in the world they were wishing for.

Colour-Blind.

It's hard to imagine life without love;
like it is to imagine life without colour or sound -
where the same shade of sky,
would meet the same shade of ground.
But falling in love is like finding a new colour:
it keeps changing the picture
until the picture's not the same with any other.