He has come for me again.
A date for which I am never ready.
Dressed in his garb of gray, with
Slashes of red and purple showing through.
Colors so bright, I shield my eyes.
If I am brave enough to look directly at him,
I see black surrounding his form.

It is not a pleasant date.
He takes much pleasure in my pain.
His colors seem to brighten as my moans intensify.
The gray stays constant.  
Foggy, cemetery gray, that chills me to the bone.
His presence makes me bury my head
And long to be alone.

The color of pain may be different for each person,
For me, this is what I see.
Gray and black, with flashes of red and purple.
Until, at last, the narcotic god loosens pain’s hold on me,
And he is left to find another victim to torment.
Until next time I am weary and unguarded.

He will return for another date and
Envelop me in his cold, gray arms of agony,
And kiss me with his red lips of searing, hot pain,
Leaving behind the purple marks of his touch.
Each visit, his blackness grows just a little more.
When will it be that Black will be all I see?