Stricken by the absence of color,
and the absence of rainbows that once sung to me.
Nullified and numbed by the irrationality of my ego,
and my hatred for sanity.
These are punctured wounds by the hands of the stained glass,
as this shattered hourglass speaks gibberish to me.
I'll take all the blame,
it was all my fault anyways.
As if my world wasn't trippy enough,
the only thing standing in my way is you.
So let violence sing one last time...
Scream for me poetry.