Your love is a bland painting, with too many colours that hurt the eye.
And one cannot look at it too long.
It is the fainting lines of a charcoal sketch, once beautifully carved on paper and now is just a shadow
Yours is? Yours was? What once was? Something old?
A black and white check shirt, now no longer fits
Moving on to find new clothes, I went shopping.
I was outdated for the new fashion, it seemed
Now I wear rags, and drama as my crown
While sitting miles away, you laud at your honest and wise decision.