The throbbing Red
lies dormant, subdued.
The Grey,
with its chromatic hue
slipping daterapes sullenly
into Red's Course.

The hungry Crimson,
cold and entranced,
beats for the Prismatic Bland,
sending vitality
to that which opresses it so.

As a third party,
the Boy introspects the situation.

As an Outsider within Himself,
The Boy bleeds his hands

tearing at the Chains
that bind his emotions,

direly grasping
the living cage that has turned
against Him.

It hurts Him,
the Grey soothes with its lies,

It soothes with what it tells the Boy
to say when He wishes
to soothe another.

Volatile mind,
backstabbed psychology.

Babble.

And Firmly,
the gates lay shut
in opposing pressures.

These feelings,
these raw tides.

Grey Matter has been my heart,

with its thinking
and thoughts,
its wasting time
to speak its fabrication
when the Heart
could speak one-thousand
words with Action.

single-second emotions
unable to sing through,
a broken neck
to a proverbial piccolo.

Screaming inside,
loving in secret,
futures without fruition.
Living in Safety.

The Boy tells himself
he is OK.