Hey pseudo man,
Aren’t you tired of sitting in your bleak little room playing with kaleidoscopes?
Now I finally see how you try to reflect other’s poignant colours onto your black and white life.
You made a fool out of me. Made me bring my palette, eager for you to spend perfunctory moments with me.
But all I got was your angry splashes of disarrayed watercolour. Diluted. The colours dripped down from my face blending into a mess of brown.
I dipped my finger in my palette of pigmented oil colours, traced the outline of your lips and left.
I don’t play dirty sweetheart.