The Canvas

By Ridima

Was a blank canvas

painted by others

Seen in the dark

it looked like colors

What they used

they, called them brush

But every time it touched

the canvas flushed

Painting looked pretty to them

But something was missing in them

Turning the lights on

everything's lie

the color they use

was black and white

Stroke of brushes

were slashes of knife

paint dripping down

took every life

Now, canvas stained down

with bloody wound

not by the strangers

but the people you fond

By Ridima