Silent Lips

You can’t color loss.
Even black or grey
depicts something,
and loss is nothing.

A no-thing,
      everpresent.

Vacuous
presence of space
where what was once,
now is not.

A void,
      heavy in marrow.

This is loss,
a colorless page.
No hue can convey
the intrinsic value of empty.

An abyss
      with depth.

She no longer paints her lips
they remain a barren landscape,
lacking laughter and childhood.
The Nothing demands attention.