My lust collides.
With an ideal story.
Of how we once were.
Towards no greater good.
Trickled lines of fluorescent clouds.
And a head full of sunshine.
Orange Balloons.
At utmost a smile.
Buried in indigo.
Banners of light from the wrist.
Sagging and aged wallpaper.
Strangles the air.
Gives you something to breathe.
If we hold on.
Then we can start to move.
We can start to see.
See past the light.
My colours are fading.
Becoming something new.
As everything contracts and leaves.
Leaving a new day.