i forget how to feel
i used to feel so much
it was beautiful

i trembled with pure anxiety when i dreamt of the future,
now i am empty

whether it was about my future career, love, or just the vast universe itself, i always felt present and in the moment,
now i am empty

i cannot connect
i can't feel that spark in everything that i once had
this was my rock that kept me grounded, stopping me from flying away into orbit

i thought i finally put to rest my own creation that haunts me
but yet, it still lives through me, every day now

this creature is a parasite
it has been with me for as long as i can remember,
stealing my emotions,
still, i am empty

i used to be a rainbow in a world of gray and now i feel like the gray in the world of color
teach me how to mend myself together again to be able to feel anything at all
even if its pain,
sadness,
jealousy,
i just want to feel something

all i see ahead
is shattered glass
dense gray fog
ice cold stares
scars upon scars
colorless sights
empty sidewalks
forever and always

on a black and white background I walk
i walk on black grass and black
I watch the sky when I watch

in black and white background I walk
I walk treading on my old shoes
my new but I still go

here and in the sky a gray moon appeared
and her glance does not surprise me
and she is just like everything completely gray

14.12.18

return to the past
it was recently been now
return to the past
was recently was today

return to the past
collision with gray leaves
return to the past
happening happening right now

12.12.18

Thy is not blind, thy is full of life
Yet it be thy eyes has lost all soul
Thy colors have fallen and brutally died
There’s no hope, to find them is no more

Black, grey, whenever and wherever you go
Never to reappear in this monochromatic world
All colors have gone as if they vanished into below
Get them quick; they’re in hold!


Children will hear, children will be told
Of the story of no colors around
Only black and white are left, as the rest are mold
Grey in the sky, grey on the ground, colorless all around

Yet, in my hands, in this little polychromatic portfolio
I am still able to see the colors that left so long ago

Where there is love, but there is no passion
There is a hearth that has gone ashen.
It is a sleep where there is no dreaming
Day will break, but there is no gleaming,
A familiar dish, lacking in heat,
A well-known dance, lacking in beat,
A complex wine sans maturation,
A photograph sans saturation.

What, to you, is seen
Maybe you are soaking in the color green
I hope not for your soul wouldn’t be clean

Perhaps blue the one carried throughout night
Maybe you see it or feel it dampening your might
I hope not for it takes away your bright sight

Consider you see red in a darker shade
The kind given when skin meets blade
I hope not for it is no good to carry a grenade

Think now that you see only grey
A blank colorless sight hard to convey
I hope not for this color surely can slay

Look at the world and tell me
What color it is you see

it was never there.
you were wrong,
there was nothing.
it was always gray, gray.
and the blots of color you thought you saw were just
refractions of light.
gone and by.

the world is as still as stagnant water,
made of thoughts instead of mosquitoes and bacteria.
the thoughts itch in a way they could only dream.

it was always this way.
no surprise.
humor, maybe even.
why?
the most hilarious word you've ever heard.
because,
say the gray walls, gray floors, gray ceilings, gray doors.
because.

Mostly, I gaze upon the fields and see dead grass and falling trees
With branches reaching toward the sky in a sort of outward plea
Begging not to be condemned this day
Yet winter comes anyway
And the world becomes gray

For the most part, my world is gray
My vision full of its hues where dormant nature lay
Dark and dim and cold to the touch
Like stone statues crumbling down, collecting dust

And for a time, I think to myself
That spring will never arrive
That the warming sun will never shine
And color will never thrive

For a time I believe
All I have is all I see
Dusky days stuck by thorns
Eternal gray, eternal scorn

But, alas, the buttercups appear
Never distant, always near
Creating pink painted prairies
And vibrant stippled hills buzzing with little fairies
In a manner much like Van Gogh
Streaks of holding hands and blushing cheeks' glow

And I think to myself
If we have nothing else
How powerful a symbol Mother Nature truly is
Whispering a message I cannot miss
That after such tragedy
Life can take root again
Vibrant, like a melody