When the clothes of life don’t fit us right.
All the world hums in a headache grey.
I wish for it all to fade away.
To drown in the peace of a miracle.
Or to sleep in the air of reframe.
But life is wanton, and but an ocean of torment.
And pain is the reservoir that keeps refilling.
Washing over me, again and again
Fill the voids with treasure.
Beauty to banish the dark.
Fill your mind with flowers.
Because you know what is coming.
The fingers around your heart.
Cold as the hope you had for change.
Creaking against tomorrow faintly.
Delicate as god’s trust.
You suck the petals to feel the bloom.
Mother’s womb, and all the dreams you buried.
But the soil and sadness win out.
And the treasure turns to tin foil.
This gloomy dissonance reverberates.
As you fade once more into silence.
Are you fading?
Do these colours run from you.
The yellow fades to grey, inside a day.
And memories are now obscured from view.
The pill in your hand doesn’t make you invincible.
It merely hurries the inconceivable.
Havoc and Consequence 