Untitled 001 Poem by C. F. Alastor

As you depart from this bluish house,
I can see your feelings are now blank,
It is as white as a painter's canvas,
In the world full of vivid colours.

To surround us with these mysterious colours,
To you, to him, to her, to them, is nothing but gray,
Gray, the absence of feelings,
Gray, the absence of colours.

To you, who can withhold a goodbye,
To you, who can disappear with no trace,
To you, who is now hurt from this day on,
To you, who can never release anger within.

To absquatulate without a trace,
To just go invisible in a snap,
Thine mind, that day, will never leave me,
The day, you said goodbye without a single trace.