A painting, framed
Yet without concerns
For the art around it
Slowly, a hollow palette of colours, washed off
A blank slate, with a hint of teasing
Despite the brushes
And the countless spots
It feels as though
No thought was put into the creation of everything
Rather, the slate looks to me
I’m no painter
But I need the frame
It keeps me together
I’ve come to learn, that two parts of my frame remains
No matter where I turn or go
It matters to me
As I cling on to the frame
Trying to be strong
Even though when it comes to it, I’m only faking it all
I have no one to tell this to
Seeing a jar of paint
I hold the brush without
Knowing what to do
Or where to even begin to explain myself
If I only I knew what to do
I see my friends move
In life, in love, in death
Yet my world stands still
I’m scared to move on my own, I need someone to cling to
I need an extra frame
I look at the slate once more
I realise that time passes
And it dawns upon me
The world is moving alright, it is only me who don’t know how to follow
And the paint on the slate is not me
I stain the frame
As I try to paint myself
I cannot keep doing this
Running out of paint, out of hope, my misery seems to keep me afloat
Although it stops the painting
Once more this feeling
Of being left to handle myself
Without knowledge of how I’d do that
If I’d call out for help, I’d be rejected and my frames would move away
And so, I stay silent, like a painting, slowly losing it’s frames
Qa'Rajh Creations 