You paint the world now as you see it. With shades of red and orange.
A tapestry of colour you lay now at my door.
And hope to wash away, this daily grey; that for years I did implore.
And you threaten and you contest;
that now all I’ll ever see is coloured rain and summer shades.
Whether my eyes are opened, or closed.
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.
These days wash through me like the rain.
As this greying world fades.
Earth descending. Blurring off on the horizon.
The winter chill lingers over my future like an old man’s grip.
Choking me into anonymity.
Freezing the hope in my lungs.
How many times must I travel to the lighthouse?
Climbing the rocks that make my feet and heart bleed.
Insurmountable despondency. Wrapped in a sold version of existence.
The reins and remains of the day fall loose in my palm.
Sweating in the fear of losing all I have, and all I will ever be.
Clocking the years as they hurry through me like ghosts on a train.
Feeling like a stranger in my own life.
