fucked up monotony has taken a permanent seat on my porch with her wings bound tight by the people around me.
my hands flicker over the same day three hundred times but they only reach an empty face. a shell of disappointment that sighs over endlessly. a fifty year old sigh, worn out with disgrace and burnt smiles.
there is an effigy of someone i could become, but not the someone i'd want to be. her colors are vibrant, striking and shadowing mine. my essence writhes away in its
un-sublime ways. i fade like a hue doused in white over and over until i melt into the surrounding or perhaps just forgotten and put over someone's backburner.
white, someone told me once, meant pure.
no, dear. white means being plain and filled with nothingness.