Stayed up all night,
Doing something I hate.

But why?

My once rosy cheeks fade into a sickly,
Indescribable shade.

It's black.
It's white.
It's grey.
It's sad.
It's stressed.
I'm exhausted.

But you don't know.
Rose colors and brushes,
Hiding the crumbling,
Hiding the dark circles,
Hiding the grey,
Hiding my breaking point.

This week's topic is color.

To challenge yourself even more, try to go for a light blue-grey.

Have fun!

So let them play their music. Let the cheerful songs fill them with joy and the sad ones with sorrow.

And us?

We can dance. We might not have any more dimes, but we don't need music to dance.

Staring out into the stormy winter night

in one of those old-time diners

The jukebox tunes the only thing keeping me alive

I've been tripped and trampled on for far to long

this is the end of the line, a dead end

The song comes to an end, and the jukebox is silent

I'm out of change

My life is a jukebox
The music plays with only a small selection
My life is a downhill slide
Going in only one direction

As you get up from that diner table
And move across that floor
You pick your song on that dusty jukebox
And you play it forever more.

Subject of poetry:

A jukebox