I'm going insane
From what I do
My obsessions I hold
But I foster too.

Do I like it,
I guess i do
Because right now
I feel there’s nothing to lose.

Run me down
Because you might see me
In all the shades
I breathe and all colors
I admonish.

But I like it
I really do-
and I won’t
Be restrained
By you.

Sleepy eyes hidden behind black and white covers-
Your arm covering your eyes but you're smiling with nothing but joy and laughter-
Coal Black hair and a 5- o'Clock  shadow covering your chin; I can almost feel the roughness against my face-
Our small, New York apartment, messy as always in the background-

"When did you stop dreaming in technicolor? When did you only focus on the black's and whites of life? She asked when he sat down in front of her- no smile, no joy.

he's strong
i'm wild
he's beautiful
and he sees everything in technicolor.
he's all i will never be
and i love him more than anything.

-*z. vega

Today was written in Technicolor.

It was like waking up from a nap on a huge open field and seeing the greenest of all greens in the grass and the bluest of blues in the sky and the most blinding whites in the clouds.

It was the warmest brown in the eyes of the one who is laying next to you.

And the day rolls by slowly, in the sharpest focus. It is perfect and not too hot and not too windy and I feel as though it should last forever because I do not want to leave this day or this moment.

But the sun surely sinks, until it is at the edge of the horizon and it casts a sepia light over the world. Under this light, where before I had thought it could not get more beautiful, it is like a dream, where the world is frozen in amber.

Brown Eyes laughs when I ask if we could stay here forever. We cannot, for the sun sets and the stars appear and shine and laugh with Brown Eyes.

I laugh too, but it is odd laughter for behind it’s sound is a melancholic harmony, one that comes after technicolor days.

Because now the world might seem a bit bland and empty.

Technicolor days are sad and beautiful.

We're but a collection of monochrome films,
each it's own color.
Pixels on a screen,
giving life its big animated motion picture.

You are the absence of color in our cinema screen;
white.
I am the absorption or combination of all combined;
black.
So why then, when reflected through a prism your light
gives a rainbow?
It must be the light versus a color, without the light there is
no Technicolor.

We're but a composition of a continuous film,
and ensemble of the cinema of life.

She sits here to write a poem about the color that she has subconsciously chosen for her late night, dark movie of a life; the color that consumes her train of thought.
RED is the iron taste that calms her brain and her sick, hungry craving.
RED is her rage fueled violence that sends her raving.
RED is the chains of love that tie her to the dead man that holds her close.
RED is the remains of her many loved ones overdose.  
RED is the sounds of dark creatures in her room while she fights drowsy consciousness.
RED is the flashing lights arriving at her house to relieve her family of suicidal drama.
RED was her liquid cure to trauma.
RED is the hospitals unforgiving smell of the broken minded girl, in dire need to forget the RED sticky liquid in her hands.
RED is what she feels when no one understands.
RED is the devils strong words manipulating her movements.
RED is the crackling fire preventing her of improvements, it sends her too much joy.
RED is the lipstick that covers her when she pretends to smile.
RED is the lines that begins to pile upon her skin while she deals with the misery she’s living in. She writes her poetry to keep her sane,
Take the bad thoughts, and remove them from her brain.  
To share them with others helps her know that someone cares, because the thought of being alone is the only thing that scares her.
Abandonment has sent her down this path so when she portrays violence, it’s a much perfected craft,
She wants to keep her friends but she just pushes them away because who would like to stay with the girl filled with rage.
What’s sad about this story is that the story is true,
And this story is mine, it’s nothing new. But now you know all my baggage and cracks that keeps me away from the rest of the pack.
I’m an outcast and a liar to say that I’m fine, but the movie that I made with this color is truly divine.
Please don’t worry my dear, I’m getting better with time.
This poem is the past and I’m in the world of new so maybe my next movie in Technicolor would be best if it was BLUE.