the hand of my mishaps
has smeared the colors of my memory
into a mix of black
all my happenings
pooled into a dark mess
a puddle of questions
a puddle with no concrete end
i remember certain shades
but i cant sift through the black
retrace what has mixed with what
i cant see how they came to be
and i dont believe in seeing the world
as black and white
but sometimes that's all youve got
1 comment:
Nice, really.
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