deep gray flowing out from my soul into
an empty canvas of disheveled hopes.
a touch of red for my unruly passion or
could it be my love, rather my endless hurt.
a spec of round yellow light for constancy,
that polar star which can never be me;
drinking greens and orange and purple
for all the world around me, and white;
but all that color is but a darker shade
of black, and my blues are on its way.