True colors hurt to see. Anguished lashings never ending. Echoing torment even when the eyes are closed vault doors. The heart will always draw the short straw. For what was once believed to be honey to the taste was in reality vinegar on the tongue and salt in gaping wounds.
Which color from the palette do I feel today? This Life of shades blended with transitions of primaries and secondaries. Sometimes the brush strokes are violent and strong, red and green giving way to hues of blue. It is the backdrop on the canvas that silently screams from the once blank easel, muted echoing in my chest. Not all painted works are full of happy little trees.