Our world, though claimed to be enthralled in hues of green,
Resides in purgatory, an abyss that is not black and white, but sterile grey.
The horizon, seemingly bleeding crimson from the wounds that skyscrapers rip into the clouds,
Fades, into nothingness brought by with the darkness of night.
Not sunrise, because sunrise is rebirth,
But sunset, because sunset is expiration.
The taste of copper that used to flood our mouths
When teeth pierce skin,
Now dulled to bitterness that lingers in the corners of our lips.
The poison that we indulge in for instant gratification catching up to us,
It’s venom spreading through our veins, until it is as much of a part of us as is our blood.
Though it is not black and white, but sterile grey.
White emanates of weightlessness, insubstantiality, peace.
It is the lightness in your heart and freedom in your soul,
As your mind numbs to a point where you are free,
Yet somehow in agony.
White is the release we long for our whole lives, the simple
Pleasure of letting go and falling,
Simply falling.
Black emits of power, depth, and regret.
It is the ash that is the remains of the fire that had once burned and scarred,
Now dowsed with the ice water that is the harsh reality.
Black is the slowness of our movements as our muscles grow stiff
And you fall.
Fall back into the ocean that is our depression,
Comfortably numb until all air would have escaped our lungs,
And the void would have consumed us entirely.
And grey, the sterile grey that paints the walls of hearts and souls,
Is the gentle balance between both. That contrast, between
Day and Night, Love and Hate,
Peace and Chaos, Black and White,
Is our eternal fate of somber nihility,
The simple quiet that keeps our hands at work and minds at bay.
And yet, we long for more.
We long for pain, pleasure, the good, and the bad,
To fulfill our lust for things beyond the thin line that segregates our youth and wisdom,
And leaves us yearning for a choice.
Because perhaps, when the contrast between black and white grows too dense to bear,
The tightrope amidst life and death becomes the only thing we have power over.
And only then, perhaps, we have a choice:
A chance to escape the world that is not black and white,
But sterile grey.
