A vanilla canvas for creamy complexion;
Paint the golden sunlight on her blonde waves,
Pink dots for her sweater her rosy perception.
Add crimson strokes if that’s what she craves!

A bright color palette tainted by black:
Cream engulfed by charcoal, the ambush nights will last.
Spread the coral sunset when she never comes back,
Vietnam smudged her mascara smeared her heart.

In a blur of messy strokes the world is swirling;
Deformed brushes like human tongues, screaming;
Gold dances with crimson, her dark self is spinning,
Sucked into black hole, burning away to nothing.

She devours Vietnam, yet lost in the frame.
Oh Mary Anne, who’s the painter to blame?