Grey Sky
One white, one black, multiple shades of grey. No colour, and yet a part of every colour.
My shadow following me everywhere. Only in darkness shall my tail be excused. Instead we are one.
A cloud that hovers, threatening precipitation, not for me, but for others when it feels the time. Things grow, people get wet, puddles and rainbows.
A large margin between one ultimatum or another, in the middle.
Obsessed with the decay of my brain, I peak into my own thoughts and hear the infinite loop. It reminds me to forget everything that connects me to the beginning. I dare not touch anything or else I'm treated to a visual light show depicting some small moment of tears, joy or uniqueness. Played, replayed, analyzed ....in grey. The feelings are not real, though they can feel more real than any slap in the face now. Ultimately like a drug it is easily addictive, one touch leads you to touch upon another part and so on. Eventually I stumble upon the beginning which so neatly is molded to the end, which is now. The loop does not grow but only layers onto itself, making thicker and tougher but harder to distinguish. The original markings buried beneath similar but more elaborate doodles of the same taste, but never quite as good.
LOVE
FEAR
WILL
COMPASSION
RAGE
HOPE
AVARICE
All between LIFE and DEATH, each with own colour, only to be remembered in grey.
My shadow following me everywhere. Only in darkness shall my tail be excused. Instead we are one.
A cloud that hovers, threatening precipitation, not for me, but for others when it feels the time. Things grow, people get wet, puddles and rainbows.
A large margin between one ultimatum or another, in the middle.
Obsessed with the decay of my brain, I peak into my own thoughts and hear the infinite loop. It reminds me to forget everything that connects me to the beginning. I dare not touch anything or else I'm treated to a visual light show depicting some small moment of tears, joy or uniqueness. Played, replayed, analyzed ....in grey. The feelings are not real, though they can feel more real than any slap in the face now. Ultimately like a drug it is easily addictive, one touch leads you to touch upon another part and so on. Eventually I stumble upon the beginning which so neatly is molded to the end, which is now. The loop does not grow but only layers onto itself, making thicker and tougher but harder to distinguish. The original markings buried beneath similar but more elaborate doodles of the same taste, but never quite as good.
LOVE
FEAR
WILL
COMPASSION
RAGE
HOPE
AVARICE
All between LIFE and DEATH, each with own colour, only to be remembered in grey.