Colours

If I were able to look at myself with my own eyes, I would see nothing resembling what I let you see,
perhaps I would see thoughts.  
Raw, bleeding, black thoughts.  
 
Restless Words, memories, ideas; colours. Colours that would bleed together as water colours on cheap paper.  
 Though if colours are upon colours, upon colours, upon colours.    
 
   R. I. P.  
 
The moment the paper tears, the cut... too deep, the smile drops,  
almost before you hear the drip drop stop. Is my time running out?  
 I suppose that’s how time works.