Blue is the color of a fresh start. The beginning of what is to come. Begging to be taken care of, a new born babe screaming for icy milk.
Purple bursts forth aching to be noticed, flashing it's annoyance every time it is ignored. Pleading for an snowy kiss to sooth its fire. Morphing into Black to match the fervor of the Artist.
...
Like a curtain that falls after a show,
the black curtain falls over skin normally shown.
Talent, confidence, beauty shadowed by the shadow they are draped in.
You can't wear that.
...
An Artists Creation
Blue is the color of a fresh start. The beginning of what is to come. Begging to be taken care of, a new born babe screaming for icy milk.
Purple bursts forth aching to be noticed, flashing it's annoyance every time it is ignored. Pleading for an snowy kiss to sooth its fire. Morphing into Black to match the fervor of the Artist.
Green fades in, sad to be there, wanting to run away. A dying meadow wanting the tender hand of a gardener. Poisoned by its own nature, it wilts away.
Yellow flashes through, passing as quickly as a traffic light. Care is discarded, death has won the race, snatching the last of the Artists colors away, leaving a blank canvas, awaiting the next swing of the Artist to begin a new creation.