It’s not your fault that life is changing colors
And leaves you with just 50 shades of gray.
But you are painter and even with this palette,
You can draw wonders, colorize every day.

You can chose forms and push as hard as needed,
Or draw thin, long, curved, uninterrupted lines.
Draw everything you need, pictures are your poems,
Even if you are drawing over canvas full of lies.

You’re making memories. In every single picture
You left someone or something on the sheet.
It’s your own legacy, you think that you regret it,
But leaving them to soak in the street.

These rains will wash it, they’re mixing colors,
And, suddenly, they ruin your views
Of what was right, was wrong, and what was counted
In your endless tries to picture something good.

So they will do it, as your life is a chaos.
The only thing you have is your paint brush.
You should be the one who’s mixing colors,
Mix them gently, you aren’t in a rush.

Imagine future, hold your breath for second,
There is nothing wrong inside your dirty head,
Take brush again, you will be a legend,
Drawing lives from their beginning to their end.

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