Narcissus

What is colour, but the appropriation of light?

With mine, you paint the one you want to be,

want me to be.

Stories, lies

so bright, but nothing more

than a means to an end

like so many times before.

You burn with an intensity, immensity

And yet duality

in the way you lie with me.

A woman scorned, the man forlorn,

Forewarned, of course, but still

his ‘broken’ heart,

his token heart

playing with those shades of sorrow

for how you’ve hurt me,

used me, abused me like dirt.

Me, my pain

wets the brush for you to paint

your pretty pictures

your devilish schemes

our dreams like leaves, once green

now just ashes on the ground.

I can be any colour you want me to be, baby.

Any shade – you played me well,

made me crack into a thousand hues.

I had to lose

my way, so I could find yours for you.

For what am I, but a reflection of you?

A mirror for the thousand eyes who see nothing but

Themself

reflected in mine,

myself, the shadow cast by your light

left lonely

in the echo of your might.

So show me your true

colours – you guessed it.

I’m testing, suggesting,

Who would you be? How would you shine?

If you stood alone

bereft of the canvas you craft

from mine.