The sky was pinkle when I woke,
A shade of laughter, half a joke.
The clouds turned sorn, a moody hue,
Like whispers drenched in morning dew.

I dress in plasmic, soft and shy,
A color caught between a sigh.
My shoes were tied with strings of frave,
The color brave, that I crave.

The streets were wet, a glistening feel,
Like promises too sharp, too real.
I stepped through puddles, blur and glant,
With hues that speak, but never chant.

The trees were spindle, tall and thin,
Their leaves were painted grun and kin.
The world spun round in shades unknown,
Colors that feel, but never shown.

By evening, selk began to fall,
A hue that echoes with no call.
And as the night wore shades of flow,
I drifted where the colors go.

An itch of an inch – scratching to reach that place we once
walked; it was almost the measure of love; with elevating
conversations that led to a level of trust. Now wearing linen
divorce clothes, to separate the time that wore us down; as I
carried a smile in a frown; as we all plant a seed of respect we
have for others, hoping in due time it flourishes.

But trust me, winter is loveless – summer is the state of your
heart, where the sun still longs to shine even when it’s hidden
behind the clouds. Love is needless, to those who only respond
by the own feelings; looking for someone just to entertain them,
by only giving them a good feeling.

As all my bones break in despair; at the sound of the skeletons,
I must break in my closet – my soul shakes like the trees caught
in a storm; with electric branches. I’ve been struck down; made
to be someone with no passion, no meaning, or digression.
Passive-aggressive – only out of annoyance; for an inch of my
life, revolves around entertaining people who show pieces of
their true colours, and still expect me to act colourblind.

How they offend my sight!

Burnished green,
Coloured crimson—
Reminiscent of the city of Dis.

Rising from churning seas of the onyx chagrin!
Carrying clandestine echoes of a civilisation within!
Dismantled— reassembled—
Delivering concrete messages to a futuristic kin.

Gaunt of the clergy,
Gaunt of the orchid,
Gaunt of a worship violation,
Conjuring apparitions of violent dissent!
The blue and the teal, they kneel, unseen,
Receiving concrete messages from a cardinal, unseen.

Sun bearing down upon the straining, emerald trees!—
Many eyes and many limbs reach skywards,
Towards temple steams.

empty staffroom hums,
tinsel draped in gaudy glee,
echoes fill the void.

The colours blue
And purple
The deep blue and
Purple
Are very healing
And calming colours
To me

my fingers are laced in a chalice
of drugs that **** my sensations.
i used to resist them as a loner—
until the white coat angel
ignited my fouls with
radio-**** tweaking.

now i sprawl in expiring
fictions that come anew
and reprint their additives;
making me a king
of numbers, of colours,
of game.

until my world is all
mold and brain.