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.