EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU IS GRAY,
from the way your voice kisses your moribund breaths, trying to squeeze color into your lustreless lenses, to the way light bends around the colors in your perception, to the way you view the world,
to the way you view,
to the way you view the world,
(Hey, I said, taking your fingers and twisting them softly, lacing them in my own, isn't the world such a beautiful place? I asked you the same way I'd ask a statue and at this point I'm starting to understand that not even I can stitch your spirit together but I want to at least grow daffodils and blue hydrangeas from the cracks between your dusted marble,
I... I think the world is just... gray, you whisper softly, staring into the sky,
Don't you find gray beautiful?
It's just... gray.)
EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU IS GRAY,
to the way you view the world,
to the way you view the,
to the way you view,
to the way you,
