Pink

 

Have you ever slept in a room painted
In a color that makes dreaming so weird?
I have.
It was fuchsia, but now it’s baby pink.
In a poem I called it the dullest.

Every time I wake up and retire,
This boring pink smiles and smirks at me.
She knows my secrets, my colors entire,
All the dreams I dream, all the worlds I see:
The bird, the proud, the craziest shrieks,
The stains, the sticky, the messy sheets.

Time always softens the colors in our lives
To give us a clearer view of reality.
In an attempt to tire us of our folly,
Time runs very fast we’re peeling as we chase it
As though we were a wall breathing, heaving, in heat.

 

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