if your life’s a vacuum with empty shades of grey
and no one there beside you to add colour to your day

trapped within four walls in an isolated room
the chill air and the darkness suggestive of a tomb

curtains drawn at windows, locks to keep you safe
a self-constructed prison, and no hope of escape

the phone as dead as you, disconnected from the wall
and technicoloured mailshots lie scattered in the hall

through the tiny window gleams kaleidoscopic light
dancing on the tiled floor until day meets the night

do you live in shades of grey?