Crayola

Pain
In the beginning
All is pain
Pain is nmuted by lust
Overwhelming
Lust falls into love
A pure emotion

or is it?

Love is pain and lust
Happiness, confusion, sorrow
Black is the purest color
The absence of such
In my crayon box
Black was all colors
Total and empty
Consuming, echoing
Real and fiction

Paradox

In my lifetime
Shall I understand?
And in the end

as in the beginning

Where can I find my peace
If not
in a box of crayons?


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