Colorful

Who promised me a colorful world?
I want to give them my eyes
And show them what I see,
A world where every tree is a
Different shade of gray.
There is an aggression in the light
Nipping at my lungs, and
The sound is oceans tugging me
Toward the floor, toward
Below. I thought colorful meant
Alive, but I am certainly dead
Or dying, at the very least I am
Shopping for a coffin, preparing
To disappoint everyone in a bright
Extravaganza, an exhibition of
Failure. I dread the feeling but
I also crave the idea of disappearing,
Of vanishing into a blissful nothing
And taking the pictures with me
So that I will only glow faint
In memories, and become a
Fairytale or legend, reduced to a
Moral but I will be a blank outline
For others to fill with colors
And not just gray pastel-ish
Milky murky drainage plastered
On a wall, waiting to crumble.
I see light, see suns, see the swirl
Of the galaxies and ice cream,
Of fingers and hearts twisting themselves
Around each other, see fire, see
Stone and cymbals, blood of a cuttlefish,
Marriage, happy flowers,
Hair in the sink, the scrambled web
Filled with spider eggs, a yolk,
A dress, a caramel center, a drop
Of teeth in orange juice.
When do they start adding up
To this colorful world
I was promised?

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