I found dust in the stillness of my sill.
No spin or song to the room.
Just an empty peace
of truces between one stranger.
An unslept in side of bed
and an ever fading sense of purpose.
Determined to survive, but forgetting all other flavors between.
Just walking by a market of greys and blurs.
No pricetags, no barking vendors.
I found a ghostly whisp of hope in that place.
Like light breaking clouds in the rolling green sea
of life, cool gravel-y breezes and fescue.
Soy, soma, and betrayal.
I wasn't sure what to make of it.
Beast, stranger, darling or whore.
To this day, I'm not sure when pretending stopped.
Such experience... such vivacious exchange
I'll never understand it, feel it the way you all do.
Some people are born colorblind, and I imagine a world
cold, flat, and even in tones of brown.
Some can't sing, and that's not nearly as hard to fake.
But then there's me
expressing all joy and pleasure for the sake of performance.
Some men are born blind, deaf, dumb and addled.
They are the subject of my daily envy.