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The Red Velvet Curtains

Color is a ploy
An illusion of the desperate mind
Filled to the brim with mundane
A weeping, fleeting time

What demeaning act of self-pity?
This attempt to fill the void
Painting nothing a brighter shade
Another memory to be destroyed

One conned by the visions
Of those who wish to see
A blank canvas is hardly nothing
But figures of nonentity
Draped in alabaster possibility

But the reasons for the colors
Never questioned as I
Look into Death’s silhouette
And you will see
Colors are naught but a lie





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