He knew how I felt,
how my feelings painted fiery red,
in the empty canvas inside my head,
with every word, I left unsaid.
But he watched and watched,
as it set aflame with every stroke of paint,
in shades of red, fuming red.
Alas, now that he wants me,
all that remains, are remains of the melted canvas,
dead and black,
just like my feelings that he played too long.
