A Palette of Colours

Mr. Chaplin crawling out,

An arm out, a leg twisted,

Fingers creeping in towards the unknown

While his lips curve into a maniacal smile

Colours trembling down his face,

His face - the palette of colours

Drowning down inside the black and white

He was stuck in his wonderland,

His fairy tale, the happy ending

An imagination, a hallucination

While the boy behind the tv screen,

Living inside his head, his schizophrenia

Painted unicorns and fairy tales,

Using his palette of colours,

On a black and white screen

The rainbow, in his utopia

Bleeding down a river of colours

While the thoughts in his head

are bound by chains and shackles,

How he looks at sour cream walls,

Stuck within his mind, thoughts screaming out

Lying on his hospital bed,

While his cries go unheard

For the boy, chaplin--a palette of colours

Stuck behind a colourless screen

Just like his life,

Already living in the grey of his memories,

While his life drowns in his sleep; deeper than usual

He drops his palette, colours trembling down the memory lane,

While he lays down, fingers stained in red

To sleep, for a long long time.