Jungle Green

Hooked between branches and locked between scenes, surely I would be lost in your usual city scape? Yet I'm thrown onto bedroom walls, and you might see me in that picture, in your hall.

I'm no lime, I'm no swamp, instead I'm more like the back of a frog. Sitting and waiting, sleeping on that log. You could always camouflage me, so i can hide and no one can see me cry.

And I'm phase two of what I'm writing, each letter pushed right in.

Am I the colour on your floor, the wood paint on your door, chipped and asking for more? Or, Am I the stain on your shirt, the shade above dirt, so beautiful it hurts.

Next Colour: Rainbow

The End

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