Color blind in a paint storm.
The beauty of the world
is a mystery hue.
False
Breaths of
Honesty.
I only see in greys and blues.
Press your eyes against
the spectrum.
It will only help to confuse your mind.
Try as hard,
as you will son.
Never again will the sun light your sky.
Walking up to a
street light.
They've all got problems of their own.
No
one
watches.
As i cross those white lines.
Now my souls on Charon's boat.
The world's all a stage, that I cannot see.
I hear things I Smell things and I even bleed.
Problems become me, my skin's now rusting.
A robot, a lost ship, a chains broken link.
We all got a couple chips in our shoulders,
some people carry smaller weights, some carry boulders.
But either way, we are all the same, our names are not different.
Yet we change and what for.
It's so mundane.
Because dancing ain't dancing till you lose your feet,
and colors aren't fading till you can't see straight.
We all take for granted the world and it's credits,
the picture ends, the sun sets, and none of it mattered.
A painting ain't painted till a bucks in it's place,
a song ain't a song till it's radio played.
The fact of the matter is life is a train,
that we all must get on but most of us don't take.
I'm lucid now white as ghost.
All for what now.
A disaster has happened.
I can see sundowns.
Forever I'm fading.
Somethings gone wrong.
These fields now of colors are all,
mine,
to touch.
This is a story of a blind man becoming blind, bitter, then dead.