I'm writing from a grey area.
a grey space.
There's nothing to fear here
because there's nothing I can place.
Just blank faces,
blank pages,
looks like empty space.
But it's not, it's filled.
Just that the print got erased.
Grey rubber blots grey pen and grey ink.
So I can't read the writing,
and I can't seem to think.
Properly in grey,
it blocks out my way,
in fog, in smog,
I'm trapped inside of it's maze.
And I keep expecting it to fade,
to falter, to change,
but it thickens and tightens
and darkens in shade.
Until I'm locked inside of grey chains,
and I can't break free.
or see anything,
but grey.