Your contradictions lead me to think,
That I'm the only contributor plugging the sink.
It's overflowing, something's stuck,
I peer down the drain, it's filled with muck.
What you don't understand is I'm not the whole cause,
You're not either, but we both carry flaws.
I like to watch the water drip down the drain,
So I don't have to go out and get wet from the rain.
You like the thought of where it goes,
As you hear the sweet symphony the drops compose.
But these faults alone don't hold the drops hostile,
It's a compilation of things that put them in exile.
Please don't blame just you or me,
One day it'll clear and the drops will drip free.
But until then, we have to stay sane,
As we listen to the water drip down the plugged drain.

She was a monochromatic artist,
She carried grey on her brushes,
Grey on her canvas.

Years had passed,
painting the grey,
Until she met him,
on a casual day.
He asked for her art,
red engulfed her face.
She handed it over,
Felt her heart race.

As he painted atop,
her plain, grey work,
She noticed his quiver,
his subtle quirk.
He shook with excitement,
for what he created.
The strokes of his brush,
what they effectively stated.

The canvas flooded with color,
vibrant blue and red.
What once was just grey,
was every color instead.
He shared his paint,
and together they painted.
Hours, days, weeks, months,
they were quickly acquainted.

It soon became time,
to get on his way.
He packed up his paints,
left the next day.
Soon after he left,
her work began to fade.
What was once turquoise and magenta,
again became stone grey.

She carried grey on her brushes,
Grey on her canvas.
She was a monochromatic artist.

I was late,
Frantically running in hopes I'd make it to the meeting on time.

I was distracted,
Not worried where I was going, but worried about when I'd get there.

I was careless,
I stepped on the flower in the crack of the sidewalk I so carefully appreciated in days past.

After the meeting, I was released on a lunch break.
There, I ran into him.
A man of broad appearance, yet short structure.
A man from work who had a meeting proceeding lunch.
As we talked, time seemed to slip from our grasp.
I took the journey back to work on foot, while he operated his motor vehicle and realized:

He was late,
Frantically driving, swerving in an out of lanes, exceeding speed limits in hopes he'd make it in time.

He was distracted,
Checking his phone for updates on his current situation, he ceased to notice he was headed into the crosswalk.

He was careless,
His seconds of fatuity caused a mistake that could never be withdrawn.

The smile he carried just moments ago was now contained by the gentle housing of his lips.
Creases dawned from the furrow of his brow, caused by the saturated eyes he wore beneath his languid eyelids.
As the time between his inhalation crescendoed, mine slowed to a stop.
He stole my breath.

I was late,
Frantically gasping in hopes they'd arrive promply.

I was distracted,
Not worried about who was coming, but when they'd show.

I was careless,
Here I lay as the flower, once alive in a dreadful place.

They let me out today,
The demons in my head.
Left the gate unlocked,
"Leave the cage," they said.
I took one step outside,
The sunlight burned my skin.
My body wanted to leave,
But my mind stayed in.
I've left the cage before,
Several years ago.
I escaped that time,
They didn't let me go.
As I left the cage,
Thoughts flooded in.
Thoughts of things I've done,
Thoughts of where I've been.
I got too overwhelmed,
By my presently haunting past.
I could've been their first escape,
But I always finish last.

In an alternate world,
Everything was fine.
I could love them all,
The attention was mine.

The problem is,
That world doesn't exist.
I live in reality,
Directly in the midst.

My mind is erratic,
I can't take much more.
My heart is numb,
And my conscience sore.

For all these problems,
I am the host.
We've all made mistakes,
But I've made the most.