When you switch paint on a brush
The other color stays,
Till you wipe it off dry.
What was the rush?
You didn’t even wipe me off,
Dipped me all in her,
You didn’t even try .

Smothered me like a paint brush,
Painted me in bad blood,
Killing off a soul,
Just because you want another.
I could have told you, I hated it.
You were so high, you wouldn’t trust another.

I was walking on a road,
Not a tightrope,
Then how come when I fell,
Why was it so bad?
I blinked and she was me,
I didn’t even realize,
When I drowned In the creek.

It was not you, that I wanted.
I wanted to be her in your story.
While she played me.
My own body froze me,
Every time I heard her name.
You were my embarrassment
You were driving me insane.

Now when I stare,
at my half cold tea.
All I see is the ‘Art of replacement’,
How shattering can it be?
Now some of my fires are ice cold,
Dissolved in some of it,
It doesn’t disappear when you get old,
Because you were the artist,
Who scribbled over my gold?

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Mishthi Shukla is a 15 years old Student.

“I write poems to escape the world, I dream to heal people.”

Email- mishthishukla8@gmail.com

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