she wields her silence like a brush
painting the magnum opus
of pain and more pain
on the canvas of my heart.
My tears add tinge
to the heavy melancholy
of the lonely spots of ink
as she paints effortlessly.
The pain is red or black
she wonders, and sprays
copius silence around it
as my heart slowly dies.
She wields her silence like a brush
the painting is complete
she leaves the paint in my heart
to dry forever, in solitude
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