A Lonesome Try

Tongue cut out,
Black ribbon
Across the eyes
Not a hand to wipe
The tears off.
On the knees,
Walking towards a window
A light from a window
Beaming on the eyes
A subject of a depressed artist
It could be
But the heart beats
He cannot paint
With his brushes
He cannot make it
So red like blood
With his knives
Sorrows and painful
Memories of the days
Are darker
Than every funeral
Mourners' clothes

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