Burnt Starlight: Book of Poetry and Prose

Greying

I can't picture the little bright dots
That circle 'round my blurred vision
Like some mascot shouting for a team.
I'm abandoned to subjective callings
I don't want to believe them
I just imagine cold nights sweating from fear
That they'll come for me
The little grey dots
They're coming for me.

Vision turned blank
Sparks of truth burry their little lies
In some closed spring
Cold and refreshing
Something I don't want to believe
It all swallows me and my broken pride
And rips me from the inside.

I feel the tempest roaring in some rhythmic tune
Crying manifestos of buried hues
The only color I see are the grey spots
And they're coming for me
They don't want me to be free
No, they want me to believe
The little grey lies and half truths
They can't see behind the greying hues