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Strying Jun 3
im numb
but still sad
what is this life
something straight out of hell
its hard to breathe
and i wish i could be happy
but everything is just
so grey
~im still doing finals ah~
When grey clouds
Are always spilling over
With the ebb and flow
Of their seas  
Those with soft hearts
Will soak it all in
Only to pour it back out
A greedy catharsis
Under overcast skies

The color of death is not black, is not white.  
                                                        ­                        Not red, not gold.  
Think: ashen skin.  
                               Think: where did the blood go?  
                                                          ­                       Think: pale, so ******* pale.
Bruise again.  He’s going to bruise again.  
     Mottled red   and      purple   and      blue   and      green   and      yellow.
That’s what the body does after death.  Blood runs down
to the lowest bend of the body and bruises the skin.  

The rust of cerebrospinal fluid as it sloshes
                      back and forth
       in the bag hanging above the bed.  
                                                      My mother’s hands:
white knuckled and gripping down on washcloths
to prevent her from breaking the skin of her palms.
The constant hum of telemetry,
                                the soft whoosh of the ventilator.

The human body has roughly 7% of its weight in blood.
The human body has no ******* idea what to do when
there is too much or too little of really anything.
Think: blood vessel bursting.
                            Think: cells mutating.
                                                  Think: proned patient coding after intubation.

Bruised.  His hands were bruised from all the needle-sticks,
from his lack of platelets.  And a single transfusion only goes so long.
                                                           ­   Goes three weeks long.  
The hands on the belly, laid so gently, so carefully are
covered in makeup.  The hair is parted wrong with a cowlick.
I know how they created that soft smile on his closed mouth.
                                                                         I’ve read the books.
                                            I’ve heard the talks from morticians.  
They’ve made my grandfather tan, but
I know what’s underneath the foundation:
writing your grief prompt nine: choose any color. let your mind follow that color to a memory, or a scene, or a story of any kind
rig Apr 30
i am subway air;
my undergroundness apparent in your lungs
your runningaway
         your eyes i forgetᵗᵘʳⁿ ᵃʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ
and my family of trains and
ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵈᵒⁿ’ᵗ ᵍᵒ ᵗᵒᵍᵉᵗʰᵉʳ ᵇᵘᵗ ʰᵉʳᵉ ᶦ ᵃᵐ.

i don’t take after the transportation: i am poised poison
and my hands hold all the words i have
ever opened my mouth forᵈᶦʳᵗᶜʰᵒᵏᵉᶜᵒᵘᵍʰᵍᵃˢᵖ.

but i dance, too. everywhere. in everyone.
places and people who are not youᵗᵘʳⁿ ᵃʳᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵘⁿᵈ.
i can’t help it. i have no choice.
they are here, and…

and when i am tired: i stop and just am.
for however long it takes my memory to paint
something small and heavy
the lines of past decisions
the shadows of living trees
in a forest of dead ones
the shapes of a thought i once had
the color of that moment
ⁿᵒⁿᵉ, ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ᵐʸ ᵉʸᵉˢ ʷᵒᵘˡᵈ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ᶜˡᵒˢᵉᵈ
the movement of that glimpse
of infinite imagination that i
once made my religion.

then: i stop stopping. i wake up from nosleep.
i look around and i cannot find you.

⁽ᵃ ᵗʳᵃᶦⁿ ᶜʳᵃˢʰᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵗᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿ ᶜᵃᵛᵉᵈ ᶦⁿ ᵇᵘᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵉʳᵉ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵒⁿ ᶦᵗ ˢᵒ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᶦˢ ᵍᵒᵒᵈ⁾

I paint these walls
in shades of grey
The color gives life
to such walls
I thought I'd try
to go bold
but the walls
had best to be
in shades of grey
Now my job is done
The paint is dry
the cupboards look
so good against the walls
The owner is happy
and pays me well
Job well done
© Jennifer L DeLong 🦏
Morgan Vail Apr 25
This form
Like a dead cat in the street, I
Am roadkill, I am whatever you need me to be
A puppet
Shards of pink tinted glass under my nails
Under my skin
Love like a dream
Feeling like a dream
To the dream
Give me water, blood
I tear apart this carcass
Slick with the allure of death
Release me from this casket
Lined with silver
leo Apr 10
i think grey is the loneliest color,
can’t decide
if it wants to be
the dark and mysterious color
or white
the light and friendly color
sometimes i feel grey
Shwetha sb Apr 8
The grey skies spread above me,
has something to tell
cool breeze that soothed behind me,
has something to follow
funny smell flies through my nose,
has something to invite
noise of frog wandering through my ears,
has something to warn
the single droplet falls from high,
had rolled down through my cheek...
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