The life lived in a fog
illuminated by different shades of gray
potentiating an explosion of colors
ever vividly fade into our
dreams
alliterating perfectly with
drained, dread, and dreary
bouncing off of the hard shell of reality
ricocheting through this haze we call
life
is meant to be inhaled and exhaled
with symmetrical patterns
tittering on the balance of fate and faith
inching ever closer to the center of mass:
21 grams
light it up and watch it burn
take a puff and free fall
in the high that is lower than
the lowest lows...
failure?
forces the question of whether
the shattered future will reach
its imaginary destination, or
be forever lost in this
twilight
marks the beginning of another tired cycle
weighted down by the burden of success
caught up in the monochrome movie
that parades its credits before the
ending.
I am ashamed to have written this poem.
