the color white is the only one i hate.
it’s so cold and artificial
and so damn inhuman.
it rips at your eyes when
you steal a glance in the
sun or any other bright
light, and the color of
hospital walls has never
been anything inviting
to me, at the very least.
but the ghosts that you
always see are so pale
and white that they’re
only seen in the dark.
i wanted to be one of
them, just one time,
before i got too old to
become one. i wanted
to have ties to our own
mortal world, unfinished
business of my own, to
stay here after death.
so i guess the color white is hard to hate.
YOU ARE READING
maintain
Poetry" you are a storm inside a pair of old, smoke stained dirty black lungs, within itself a story deserving to be told. " { 3/23/18 }
