gray.
she makes me feel
gray.
like when she never knows what to say.
she tries to send love
but it’s noticeably fake.
like a cotton gray.
a gray that’s barely gray
it’s just white with a bit of shade.
she unintentionally makes
me feel like
a silver blade.
a tinge of gray
and on the tip
is her face.
only here to relay
that no matter what you do
“you’ll never be my fave.”
she just reminds you of
an owl gray.
yes, you get to watch her all day
watching the droop of her face
as soon as you turn her way
and
she ignores what you say.
almost like you have to pay
just to be heard
because that’s all the craze.
being heard as soon as I start to say
anything that could potentially change
change.

I wish she noticed when I turned charcoal gray.
the day my pain decided it would stay.
the day my heart turned to ash gray
and got blown away.
she ripped my heart from my chest and set it aflame.
then, she stood and watched
as I went from a vivid color
to a sea of gray.
she stood by and watched me
continue to break.
as each tidal wave of pain
wrecked havoc
like a hurricane.
it left me a dusty
gray.
those flakes
she could easily see shake
each time I would hyperventilate
like an earthquake.
she spied as I mutated
into a gray I hated.
she saw life put me in an oven
and she turned it to bake.

and those burnt little pieces?
she smoked em away.