I am you.
You, who feels the grey underlay.
You, who can feel so happy and yet at the same time the numb weight is beneath you.
You, who can laugh, smile and wave because you’re so good at being brave.
You are happy.

You, who talks to their friends,
You, who loves another human.
I am you.

You, who thinks about dying and just stopping being.
You, who knows that something’s wrong,
But, you’re fine.

I am you who lies horizontal with the clouds, feeling the grey underlay but always reaching to keep your face in the sun.

No one close to you will ever know, but I know. I see you. I am you.

Static
------
A mixture of
Coloured pixels
Combining to make
Grey
--Uncertainty--
Vibrating from ear
To ear
Pulsing through
My mind and heart
        -- why--
A colourful mess
That I both comprehend
Yet
Yet....
It's still a mess to
--Compreh  -end--
Each pixel seemingly
Jagged
-- No -
.
.

Stillness
Just the usual static
Except
In the wrong place
At the wrong time...

nothing is so
            small that it is
            inconsequential

and yet everyone is
            blind

sickeningly bright
            cities
                        with their glittering thousands
            flicker and burn
                        glimmer in the sun
                        and crumble to ashes in the yellow-grey
                                    belly of night
            and all resurrect at dawn to
                        die
                        again
    ­                                and again
                        without a moment of awe or any consideration

the sidewalks pulse
with
deep blue rhythms

a steady
           dull
                        drumbeat
                        lur­es immortal souls like a magnet
            with each
            metered throb
                                    pounds
                                    illusions into their malleable minds
                                    of meaningless mortality
                                    and empty entropy

their eyes glow with infinities but they
walk according to ephemeral rhythm
            marching through their cyclical days
with strings
            tied to their shoes
convinced they are free and
            that their grey and blue dreams
are the only colors
in the universe

Cold sneering leaves stick through frightful roots
Green shatters droplets of desire looking to ensnare views
A crescent wind sticks through circular layers ripping with bitter apathy
Yet paying to days of grey

"I hear a song like lullaby
a flick that slips a butterfly
dust and small branches in her hair
sorrowful dream of Autumn Fae"
Katherine KSB

Call it a necklace, noose, lead or leash
that we willfully wear
as under the poke and ****
of societies brand we still let it steer.

Living for Friday Saturday and *Sinday
throwing rain at the clouds
while we let time trickle away wastefully
out the hour Glass.

But when going against the grain
is like running into a sand storm,
we would rather let the days die
like they weren't worth remembering

Like a vapour, memories fade away
In a clumping mass of evaporating
                                                     ­      grey

                                  Then

call me a fool for standing in a sand storm
traping trickling time
in the hour glass
faster than it falls as I make
Many more colorful memories.

Gaze as I turn the dam ocean upside down
Repouring the rain I caught into the clouds
As I burn the tie
fray the noose
   loosen the lead
leave the leash round societies neck
And I burn it with my own brand.