Dancing around in the candlelight all alone,
not a merry melody, but the saddest tune.
The last note hits the vinyl as I fall,
sinking to the floor, still gracefully though.
Black, maybe gray, this is, the feeling,
of staying lost, muted in a crowd;
hearing, seeing, touching,
everything, yet feeling nothing all the same.
I watch groups of 'normal' people walking by,
sneering in their minds at my state of unkempt,
I know, I know, I know what they’re thinking,
“Oh, such disarray of a girl."
Green it must be, the feeling,
watching them pass by, laughing, talking,
as I'm wishing,
“Oh, how I’d die to be like them."
White, it must be, the feeling,
of paleness that runs beyond the surface of the skin,
roots turned into isolation, solitude,
that’s welcomed but not really so.
Sedimenting beige, it must be, the feeling,
of the weight this all has accumulated,
somewhere deep within my fractured soul,
that now the coldest breeze embraces me.
A charcoal painting is my mind,
my thoughts the very paint of this melancholic masterpiece,
dark shades that just cut something crimson inside of me,
not anger, but something similarly so.
Purple it must be, the feeling,
of the pressure of the goals too hard to reach,
yet sitting there in the forefront of my mind,
as I watch myself fail, over and over again.
Burnt umber, it must be, the feeling,
of a good-for-nothing, foolish little girl,
playing the game of life, yet
losing all the time.
No royal color to describe unheld faraway bliss,
a non-existent embodiment of something that never was.
Hope comes out in fleeting blue embers,
but I squash them with the boot of the coldest pain.
Oh, how I wish.