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It’s cloudy today,

Something in my bones aches

To see the sun I so loathe

Maybe to escape this continued bloom

Of salty air and grey skies.

Is grey a porous color?

For it seeps into my mine.

It reminds me of the blue of your eyes,

The green of your favorite T-shirt

The brown of your nascent, soft hair.

And yet of

The red of someone’s blood when it reached your thirsty body.

The yellow of your dried skin,

Much like the sun, just as terrifying;

The soft pink of your Bedcover,

One anomaly allowed by the strangely empty hospital

All of these colors mixed together

Tried to take on the black,

And get lost without memories;

But can color choose the color it turns into with other colors?

And so all of this muddled into grey.

The grey of your little body,

When it outgrew all colors.

The grey of 3 months,

A lifetime stolen, many times over.

Since then the sun is downcast,

Ashamed of its pallor it hides in the clouds.

Water wells up,

In unspoken words,

In the inexplicable pain of the sudden unknown.

It choked me till I let it flow.

Raining one with the thunder.


I’m dry.

Any more water lost,

And I’ll never enervate.

Any more color lost and I will soon be one with the grey.

So today,

I need the perversely bright yellow of pain,

For what else,

will stop the rain?

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