Usually When I’m feeling down, I bust out a box of colored pencils and bust a vein on the paper.
But now I dig through the box, and I just can’t find those bright colors.
I assure myself that they’re there.
I know that they’re there.
I want I need I beg for them to be there.
But the deeper I dig The more I find blackness, darkness, jet black ebony murky, swarthy swaths of shadowy slate perilous, pitiless pitch somber, sober sable