Won’t sleep tonight
thinking about your soft hair
like rain clouds…
I understand that things are slow
and your heart beats
weighed and heavy
while I bloom in orange, before you
stay quiet, speak to me in silences
like you do
times are gloomy like the rain, I know
this path before us; it’s faux, we know
but dance with me in my dreams
we got a little time
it’s like magic
stay under my arms
sway with me
sing sweetly, with me
it’s so easy for us
It’s so natural
it’s so slow, so gentle, warm, tingly
stay this way for me
silent and rainy
amid my fixation with you
I’m not really talking about those who were born with red hair, but I’m talking about those who color their black hair red while going grey with the belief that the red will make grey less obvious while not actually making it black because putting black on black hair would give it away. They’re sort of goofy looking; they can have some remaining grey hairs on the sides that never got dyed, so now they’re left with all three colors of black, grey, and red hairs and look like clowns. They’re also pretty OCD; taking multiple showers a day, shaving constantly, repeating lame jokes, etc. They wear their pants high up, walk around shirtless with a towel hanging off a shoulder, and they’re always chewing on candies. They also love tea, and make it minimum five times a day including one at 10pm promptly. Maybe one at 2am too, who knows, since everyone is asleep by then. Because they’re on antipsychotics, it’s a joy to make tea. They stutter songs out of tune and forget/make up lyrics and grind ginger and other spices on mortar and pestle. It makes them feel like it’s morning and that they’re right on track with life; when they’re busy making tea at 2am. It’s usually a jolly song and there’s loud thumping sounds coming from the mortal and pestle. All weirdos love tea and feel that it’s always tea time, it’s a fact.
There’s always something blocking ahead. There’s always the wall; thick and made up of stones and concrete. I can kick it. I can try to punch it down with all my passion, but it just won’t collapse. I shiver and pace in this forsaken room. The lights are dim and the cold clouds claim and hide my hopes outside. I sit leaning against this wall and watch silence eat me alive; my skin, my breasts, my neck, my lips. This darkness that spills when the daylight fades out; it chews up my tender flesh, apathetically, despicably, bit by bit.
Say there’s more to this world than this. Give me a hint that you’re alive and that you’d hold me tight in these days so cold, so real, and so long. Give me reassurance that we wouldn’t hurt anyone else. Hold my face, fix your gaze, peer into my soul and tell me that I am who I am and that’s all that you see. That’s all that you’ve always wanted. Can you see through this wall? Let me try to break it. You can’t imagine the strength that runs through my veins. I can’t take it. I’ll take your hand and we’ll run to paradise. In an oblivion full of you you you and me me me…. a kaleidoscope vision, a shimmering, startling sight. We’ve got to survive. This isn’t make-believe because I know you exist. I can hear you kicking the wall from the other side. Try and try, and try and try. I’m growing scared because I really don’t know where to take us from here. The grey clouds are vast and massive. The shadows slide in. The clock is ticking. A drop of sweat burns my eye and my heart is beating. The silence is killing.
She walked over to him and said, “I need to have a discussion with you.”
“Ok” he said.
“It’s about colors. I hate black. I hate black vehemently. I even hate grey. You know what, I hate blue too. In fact, blue repulses me. Blue is like a traitor color. But I truly hate black. You can put all the shades of grey, black, and blue together and send them all to hell. I hate them all! I even hate ombré!”
“Wow ok” he responded.
“It’s disgusting” she snarled, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She said goodbye to her colleague as she put on her black coat and walked out of the office at the end of the day.
Tonight I turn to the stars, faceless,
Turn into night clouds, grey and transparent, rolling over the skies like a mystic.
Tonight I stand atop the hill, slouched like an empty bowl, alone and crazy
like a silent maniac
While thunderstorms cut across
And the grey seas snatch with temper
Angry at me
While I stand mute
Wordless, thoughtless, and unable to make sense
As the world tumbles over and the end nears
Awaiting an answer
From a faceless, coreless, puff of air.