Coming back was
yellow;
wickers of fire/
skies setting/
birds in cages
who have
forgotten
what their bodies
were meant to do/
walls in
cheap hotels that
smell like
ash and bleach
and consolation.

Leaving here was
red;
passion and desire
combusting
into air,
leaving a ring of smoke/
hope tucked into
back pockets/
inner linings and
fears woven thick
into cloaks & masks/
blood and roses/
humane and the harsh/
dresses that were
given away/
beginning again
because
nothing was holding you back.

Running felt like heaps of
green;
grass that grows too long/
sweaters never
bought/
trees never climbed/
Eden came crashing,
sending
the remains of things you
carried into air/
curtains in a home you didn't
decorate.

Living was puddles of
grey;
in betweens of order and chaos/
the parking line separating
the definitive from the infinite/
smudged after years of
toppling
over and standing
too close to the
borderline/
murky ink running/
black
isn't enough anymore/
your
certainty isn't
two dimensions but
blurry almost theres/
forgotten
memories/
Purity isn't white,
it's brown
and it cracks
and it
mends and shifts
form between hands
and isn't acknowledged.


The colors come seeping through,
potholes on old roads/
dirt paths /sirens/ bodies
unable to make sense of
new beginnings and
shared histories.