• You paint your picture of memories,
    But as time goes on,
    All the colors fade away quickly,
    And soon all you have left,
    Is an outline of what you felt before.
    So when you try to retrieve,
    Those special moments from your mind.
    You reach deep inside only to find,
    That you only vaguely remember,
    The details of those times.
    And sooner or later,
    The pencil lines fade.
    And a blank canvas is left
    Waiting to be made.
    But the shadows are sorrowful,
    And the colors are too dark,
    So the journey of memories,
    Which you were about to embark,
    Lost its value,
    And in time you are left,
    With a single color.
    But you cannot paint a picture,
    With solely the color black.
    You try to remember,
    But you can't turn back.
    For your memories were washed away,
    By a unexpected flood.
    Everything lost,
    Deep in the abyss.
    And the rest was turned to mud.
    But what are you without,
    Your colorful memories?
    And you can't seem to,
    Find your pencil or your paint.
    And your canvas has,
    turned to ash,
    beneath the fiery flame.
    Now here you lie,
    Without a piece of mind.
    And you've forgotten what,
    You were ever meant to be.