Gray today. I've learned that I can write because I too have what it takes.
When the dark is there, we write.
Darker yet we cry.
When tears make better prose than joy it is a sad place. Gray. Blue.
When purple skin is preferred over the green or the gray it is a sad place.
I wish for purple. Purple heals. Green turns to black. Blackness of a soul.
Tears of black are like ink. They cover all the white. Drowned. Death.
When oranges and reds of warm living fire get pushed away and melted, gray remains.
I prefer purple. It heals. It too melts, into a strong and glorious mix of pink and yellow.
The sun, growing the flower. Strong, beautiful, not showing its purple gray roots. Yet we know.
Such a pink is strong.
I am pink.
When the dark is there, we write.
Darker yet we cry.
When tears make better prose than joy it is a sad place. Gray. Blue.
When purple skin is preferred over the green or the gray it is a sad place.
I wish for purple. Purple heals. Green turns to black. Blackness of a soul.
Tears of black are like ink. They cover all the white. Drowned. Death.
When oranges and reds of warm living fire get pushed away and melted, gray remains.
I prefer purple. It heals. It too melts, into a strong and glorious mix of pink and yellow.
The sun, growing the flower. Strong, beautiful, not showing its purple gray roots. Yet we know.
Such a pink is strong.
I am pink.
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