Each line of "Colour Of Abuse" pairs a colour with a piece of the speaker's suffering, and together they build a picture of violence at the hands of another person. Black stands for the abuser's soul, blue for bruised skin, red for blood, silver for a gun pressed to the speaker's head. Later colours point to confinement, with a white room where the speaker was locked away for hours, and to hands that "ripped my life apart."
The speaker's feelings move between anger, fear and exhaustion. The accusing "you" keeps the abuser close, almost in the reader's face. The last line is the quietest and the saddest: clear, the colour of tears the speaker couldn't cry because showing them would look like weakness. That detail suggests the abuse took away even the freedom to grieve.
The mood is bleak, raw and tense. The simple list form feels like someone naming the evidence one piece at a time.