The sunset smeared itself across the sky,
a crime scene of color—
red bleeding into orange,
violets bruising the edges.
I stood there, guilty of wanting to call you,
to say,
"Do you see this too? Do you feel it?
Or has the world stopped being beautiful for you
since I became the ghost you refuse to name?"

For a moment,
the colors burned so bright
I almost forgot the sound of your silence—
the way you folded your love into sharp corners,
how you rewrote me as the villain in a story
we never agreed to tell.

Almost.

But then the shadows stretched long,
like they always do,
and I remembered how you used to say
the sky looked like an apology before it turned black.
I laughed, because tonight it did—
looked like you.
A burst of brightness trying to outrun the dark,
fading before it ever stood a chance.

I almost forgot you hate me.
Almost forgave you for it, too.
But sunsets only linger for a breath,
and some things—
like your name in my mouth—
are harder to let go of
than light.

I don't know
maybe it's because
no matter how light or dark
it's still the same color

My depression
Has changed the colors of the world
But how fond I have grown
Of the shades of blue and grey
In which I live

Newly birthed
Green
Like everything around it
As it matures
It wants to
Stick out
Yellow
But quickly realizes
Its brethren did much the same
All are
Yellow
Now
Saddened, it turns
Black
Moody
Then
Dies

The town is new,
its buildings washed in grey.
The streets are clean,
it's peaceful here—
but its too quiet.

Everything here is bleak,
so colorless, drained of thought.
The people stay inside,
I can't hear them smiling,
can't see them laughing.

Today, the streets are busy,
its a funeral march of faces
they move in one direction,
headed to the same place,
but they don't go together.

They're all going somewhere.
to do something unimportant.

They built another building,
big and grey, empty of laughter.
People act out scenes that once felt funny,
but they act only for the camera,
they only laugh for the camera.

No one looks up at the sky.
there's nothing there anymore—
just thin sheets of grey.
No gold, no silver,
even when the sun sinks.

I still see gold and silver,
hidden somewhere behind the clouds.
but this town stays grey.

I reach for my brush,
longing to paint something bright.
But each stroke fades—
the colors turn to ash,
grey bleeding into my hands.

I hate this town.

Every so often I step through that door
And take stock of what I've got
Pretty little things that don't make sense
But are great fun to me.

For example, I imagine
Mist speckled with silver, shimmering each time the wind picks up
Warping and swaying with the breeze.
It blankets a field of white grasses.

Another holds a grove
With electric blue leaves screaming on the hills
Shuddering and flashing with energy
Catching the wind.

In continuation
I made a deep charcoal ravine
Far down flows glowing purple lava
Carving out a riverbed far below
Thick, deadly, enrapturing.

But I can't forget green
Everything back home comes in green
The night sky in my mind
Is the deepest, blackest emerald
With stars piercing through the velvet.

The more I imagine the deeper I go
So then I make
Clouds thick and vaporous
Rumbling and yellow
Orange lightning flashes and strikes
Against the inky black sea
Golden fish flickering like candles within.

Perhaps its silly
But one say I hope to see it again.

Sometimes I get an impression
A hint of what I could have
A small stone wet from the ocean
Or the color of my favorite sweatshirt

Maybe one day I could see it in the flesh.