This bleak color is what life looks like.
Sometimes such a blur, that you need a reading glass.
Sometimes so crisp that your head aches.
This color, it never runs. Nor does it run out.
There might be the smell of roses watered with alcohol.
There might be just that thin sliver of shining silvery goodness up in the sky.
Stars hanging onto a million tiny dark hooks.
Clouds floating in smoke.
Sometimes the angels cry.
Sometimes the heartaches melt in that one rain.
But it’s summer almost everyday here.
Summer throughout the year, at times.
Even the needle sweats inside the clock to move.
But time passes.
It passes without questions or answers.
This bleak color will never disappear as long as there are doubts and questions.
You are the answer.
But you always, always, look only into that broken mirror.