The walls are colored,
But I can’t see.
Day by day I wonder,
What the hell is wrong with me?
Sunrises and sunsets are losing their luster,
And I wonder do I have any strength left to muster.
Can I continue down this path I’ve been traveling for miles,
When my shoes are torn and all I taste is bile.
This is a ride, a grand roller-coaster,
If that were true, why are the drops so big when the climbs are so small?
How can I fall so hard when I haven’t gone up at all?
How can I get off, for whom do I call?
I sit here and stare the color off the walls,
There’s only four, of that I am certain,
No more than a prison cell, but the door is wide open.
I lay here in this cube of isolation,
I’m surrounded by people who talk but don’t listen,
They have their own rooms; life is but a prison.
And we are sentenced to death,
But even then, face rejection.

Sweat tea and lemonade,
a wooden floor, filled with age.
The night sky and countless stars,
underneath which, held two hearts.
Radiant and delightful was she,
duly acquainted with the goddess of beauty.
And together they swayed for hours on end,
years later, even, though his memory grew thin.

No other girl could ever mean more;
in his eyes, he saw none, he swore.
Golden hair, she caught from the sun;
her eyes, from the sea, a prize she won.
The right partner for her, oh, would he make,
someday, may hers be the hand he takes.

I walk the road between perfect and flawed,
the life I wished I had, and the one I bought.
Paid for with hours, the wages they taxed;
the love I sought for, but never amassed.

I ride the line between black and white,
an area so bright, yet dark as the night.
Everything I wanted, plus everything I had
amounts to nothing more than being sad.

I am the umbrella,
whose purpose insinuates,
that I block all of nature’s utter worst traits.
The pounding showers of the spring,
and the blinding rays that summer screams.

I have a purpose, of that I have no doubt,
However, to this purpose, of what do I give the amount?
A few raindrops, off the corner of a fabrication,
Or a predetermined task from birth; delineation.

I am the one who lives between two sides,
The one on the right,
And the one filled with lies.
Though I see in color, what can I say?
I cannot attest for either,
For I live in the area of grey.