Painting

It's as if every sparkle would be of a different color on a scale from gray to green, trough brown to yellow. And there are millions of them It's almost blue when somber and brownish when laughing full with glitter. It has a peculiar light in it even when behind the fog of drunkenness. When mad feelings smother them, they become deep, sometimes even dark and I almost fear them. The light becomes bone cutting. I wonder how they can be when truly angry or wet with tears. The blaze don't die even when he's trying to hide behind the heavy curtains of distant memories or remoteness. Only the ocean in changing whether can be checkered like this.