Romancing the Colorless
Remember the holes in your face:
gazing into water mirrors
at what has become death,
in colors of the rainbow –
and the rain killed the color—
washed out colors of painted lives,
faded like restaurant napkins
or a horrible vision of an empty kaleidoscope.
And when I screamed my head caved in,
making me the vision of a
crumbling flat-faced princess,
with death metal emblazed
under her eyelids.
Grey fingers lace tightly
around dreams of fuchsia and gold,
as we spit on the colors;
glossy salvia washes black into the eyes of the sun.
Raining on black and white pastel pictures—
the distasteful silhouette of a crisp grey scene.
Falling white roses,
the last color on earth.
