honey-hued hopes
and stardust specked dreams,
a sea of gray shapes
inked solely by midnight blue magick
and pine needle green fear.
Emotions have colours
and so do my lies,
hand me some scissors
I'd like to cut through these ties.
Just as spilled sunrises
the winds are always tinted
in pale morning light.
They talk to me
as if dawn has yet to come
and fragments of an indigo future
are hiding in slumbering flowers.