Colours (Poem)

You used to call me your liquid brown girl,
Because the colour matched my eyes,
And the result of sunlight falling upon my hair.
Then, you'd look deep into my soul and tell me,
How my eyes reminded you of falling autumn leaves.

I wanted to tell you that autumn predicted death,
that reds and oranges were far more vibrant than browns.
I wanted to ask if you were trying to mock me
with pretty words tainted with hidden meaning,
But you'd gently stroke my hair and sing me a lullaby,
And I'd close my eyes, lulled to forgetting.

My heart and cheeks burned a warm scarlet when you were near.
I doubt you ever saw their colours,
Because you walked away despite all your promises not to hurt me,
And I could only watch mutely,
As my heart slowly began to bleed crimson.

That was how I discovered that sadness did not have a real colour.
For my tears were not blue,
They did not match the sky's hue.
They were just translucent drops that
never
seemed
to
stop.

The next time I saw you,
You were black with lies.
And I couldn't bear to look at you,
Couldn't bear to see the ending in your eyes.

I think your description grew into a prediction,
Because a small part of me has already died and withered away,
Like those fallen leaves that you claimed mirrored my eyes,
On a clear yet bleak autumn day.

Now, I only wish I could read your soul,
Whenever you stared into the windows of mine.
Then perhaps I could see into your heart,
And learn if it really did ever love me once.

You,
with those eyes that seem angry yet sad at the same time,
A strange mixture of red & cobalt blue,



My purple black broken boy.