Empty Picture

I paint you an empty picture
Full of colors, but black-withe, richer.
Pedestrian , with two ankward hands,
Where the shadow holds the place of fans.
I make a self portrait , a proeminent figure,
With a lost fluid soul, from silver.
A brilliant mind in a plastic body,
With a smile of disposable, gaudy.
But unaffected  by gossip or gravity,
Not letting the hatred to get out from captivity.
I will also draw precious accesories
To have and tresure value, beside memories
Which life had erased, and also the times
Brought you to me helped you climb.
And in the end, I will blow over the picture,
Also I will notice whithout any stricture.
That you will remain unchanged, like others
You just a sketch, and I a mosaic of colors.