He paints pain in red,
Joy in yellow,
and confusion in darkness.
The canvas is alight with colors and patterns,
Continually changing at his hand.
My pain... my red
He lovingly covers with his own crimson.
While my red is pain his is blood.
Crimson becomes hope.
A chance to see beauty.
He has covered my canvas.
I am crimson.
I am beauty.
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