The Colour of Autumn
The autumn has colour my friend
he's down like a thrown cigarette
I wanted to say something to him
but I fear that I would hurt him deeply
my heart cried for the sympathy I have
for him, so my heart wept for reading
how autumn ignores the dead leaves
instead, autumn went on to colour him
he looked thirsty to speak about his wounds,
he looked tired to be silent about his cuts
I usually don't judge from looks, but
he's not my friend; he's also my brother
I smiled at him from a distance
he dropped a few tears for recognizing him
I left him alone, but I always have my
arms open for him, if he ever wants to talk
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