Poetry

colours II

My colours go down the drain.

All the grey seeps through the seams of my body, it falls through my ears and fingers. Anything I touch will become infected with toxic thoughts and impulsive actions that cannot be controlled by a mind knotted with poisonous ideas. My body feels foreign, light gazes in and a glimmer of hope is seen. Weeping and sorrow run from my heart, they have been stuck in the prison of my skin for too long and move to torture someone else.

The colour of hell drains from my mouth and trickles down to the centre of the Earth where it belongs. It is violent and has attacked me for years in the form of intrusive thoughts and angry words, it is etched into my soul and the strongest machine cannot untangle the hatred from my heart. But as hell goes down the drain, I feel the loathing loosen itself from my soul.

Blue rushes through me in a desperate attempt to escape, I try to hold on to the collection of sadness that I have called home. Despite the countless days of thunder and rain it seems that my body will not let the killer leave; I have found love in my sadness. Without it I am a collection of empty bones encased in a body that I do not feel is my own.

Red punches at my bones, making them feel the weight of a thousand sorrows until I am too damaged to fight any longer. Anger breaks through my skin and washes away the cursed words that I have thought. My bones breath a sigh of relief, the pressure of years has been lifted.