How about that blue sky?
Not like it's new. Not like it's anything different. Or special or out-of-the-ordinary. Echoes of a Golden Age. In my Backyard. White out on a blank page of black paper, eating through to the other side. Wipe it out. All of it. Because you can't think of anything else. Nothing but this. Nothing but white, black, white, black. Wondering when it will stop? Don't. It won't. And guess what. You're the black. You're the decorative edges. You're the college-ruled lines wandering your way across the surface. ...this endless race for property and privilege to be won...
Black is nothingness; black is space; black is velvet; black is empty; black is soft; black is cold; black is everything; black is the new black; black is you.
Get out get out get out! Out to where? Out to more black? There's nowhere else to go but here. That's why you are black. Everything is black; black is everything. The edges twist away. No more echoes. No more Sunday afternoons. White lace adorns you. Dances along your fraying form. Nothing can help you because it's everywhere. Pressing and closing and enveloping. You.
Don't run. Just let it settle. Live with it. Embrace it. Grow with it. The Dark Is Rising.
Maybe. Maybe one day white again. Maybe one day sun.
Black is nothingness; black is space; black is velvet; black is empty; black is soft; black is cold; black is everything; black is the new black; black is you.
Get out get out get out! Out to where? Out to more black? There's nowhere else to go but here. That's why you are black. Everything is black; black is everything. The edges twist away. No more echoes. No more Sunday afternoons. White lace adorns you. Dances along your fraying form. Nothing can help you because it's everywhere. Pressing and closing and enveloping. You.
Don't run. Just let it settle. Live with it. Embrace it. Grow with it. The Dark Is Rising.
Maybe. Maybe one day white again. Maybe one day sun.