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.


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