Once, I was a wonderful painting
Furnished and rendered with beautiful pigments
But then a lover came to make some adjustments
And the only hue on his palette
was a dull shade of grey.
Then a friend gripped the brush of trust
And left me with sharp strokes of black
Life lubricated me with grease of problems
Until what was only left
Was a black and white portrait
Nailed against the wall of regrets.