(A/N): Hmmm... this isn't what I intended to write. Whatever; a true story writes itself!
What color is pain?
Most will say red; the color of blood, seeping from the most painful wounds.
Others say white; the color of bone as the flesh is scraped away from it.
Maybe blue; the color that you turn as you slowly choke to death.
Possibly even purple; the color that fresh bruises turn into when you've been hit.
Or brown; old bruises, dried blood, the wood of the cross that causes followers to hate you.
All those colors forming their own rainbow of pain, hurt, and sorrow.
I just don't see pain in any of those ways.
Pain is black.
Black is the color of an empty mind, full of fears and worries.
Black is the color of the room where you sit alone, trying not to cry.
Black is the color of darkness; the element that is only defined by another element; light.
Black is me. I'm only defined by how abnormal I am in comparison to anyone else. I'm only defined by how much more pain I feel than any normal person.
Black is the widower's color.
Black is pain.
Black is me, and my heart is black.
Black is pain, black is me, and the blackness is closing in.
(A/N): Hmmm... did you like it? I'm not sure if I did; probably because I meant to write something else, and I got this instead. Review telling me if you like it!