In the frames, anger is in this place of solitude into which I have been banished. I allow the sadness to impress upon me until exhausted I lie prostrate and covered by a pink blanket I am comforted though still sad.

I awake and the narcissist still has his back turned against me. His world is colorful and mine is drab. Still there is hope.

From the heat of rage, anger and trauma, the body becomes weak and pain ensues. There is a coolness on which to lay upon and from this comes the deep sadness.

The broken heart cries blue tears into a pool of water from which grows the green sapling of peace to rescue the inhabitant.