Purple.
The color, warm, cold,
catching gazes like it’s gold.

Every time I look, I feel the need.
The need to.
To do what? I must, I should, I ought.
The feeling like it’s something,
someone I have already fought.

Living, lying.
Is it the same?
Every time, I immediately took the blame.

Hiding behind, hiding inside.
You could never find me in a lavender field this wide.

The option of expressionism,
the reason for creativity.
Still, we all find a reason to copy,
like it’s some sort of collectivity.

Warm, cold, it doesn’t matter.
I talk of the pain foolishly, it did just shatter.

Blank canvas, standing in front of everyone.
Blank canvas, standing in front of me.

Purple stains my fingers,
a mark I will not be able to wash away.

Some people remind me of a campfire,
a source of eclectic senses:
the smoky wood,
the evolutionary fascination of the flame,
the warmth and chill of a starry night.

Others remind me of a snow day in grade school,
a source of jittery incongruence:
the sprinkles of white,
the disruption of monotonous school work,
the mischief of nature coming to the rescue.

You remind me of an early morning rain,
a source of calm melancholy:
the soft droplets on leaves,
the lessened saturation from the overcast,
the heightened realization and contentment of one's existence.

The essence of people
epitomized as scenes and collective experiences;
it is not so much of what it is
but rather how it makes you feel.

Nothing's
Amazing
That phrasings
Misleading

It's meaning
Is trending
Ascending
And blending

It's bleeding
To feelings
Reseeding
All learning

Refracting
Distracting
Everlasting
And confusing

Leaching
Overreaching
Reacting
No thinking

This god things
No blessing
Keep pretending
It has meaning

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