An impassive white canvas stared back,
I looked on, fidgeting with the color palate,
envisaging sunny hills and vibrant lilies?
Instead, I squeezed out lumps of grey and black,
striking the paper with your broken promises,
lying dead on rough cobbled roads.
These stunted trees are not good enough,
Like me, you said, like me,
My free spirit swept you away, far.
I let betrayal paint angry strokes,
across the ruthless lonely sky,
darkened by shadows of murky clouds,
the bristles were no longer smooth,
nor the once white canvas,
now indignantly staring back at me.