Color me cozy
Color me brown all the way down
From toes to the ceiling
This room is made of oak
Strong and steady
Like the beat of a drum
The hum of the radiator is a lullaby
The chipped lead paint is a story book
The heat a caress
Running its fingers through my hair
Tugging at my consciousness
Color me red
A bright pop
Of pain gained
From loving the heat too much
I can't touch you
But I can feel you
I can see you and your chips
As ready to fall as autumn leaves
And twice as crunchy
Running up and down your side
Like someone kissed you a little too hard
And held you a little too light
Color me white
Like the pole that sits next to you
Streaked with browns
And grays
You are your very own Tricolor
In a country made of melancholy
For you
Truly
I am blue
Baby blue
Blubbering like a child
Because five months later
You were gone
The spot where you radiated rainbows
Was blank
Monday, June 3, 2013
Saturday, June 1, 2013
#52 Shit Happens
Shit happens.
Bad things happen to good people. Innocent people are subjected to guilty consciences, accidents happen. No one could've known that there was a banana peel there, we all slip. Spilt milk? No use crying. Life is turned inside out since we all get flipped sometimes. And red? A vital red can go from a healthy purple to a melancholy blue in fewer seconds than it takes for a titration lab to go wrong.
But why? Mankind has always asked themselves why things go wrong, most times to conclude with unsatisfying answers. You can ask your parents, or your teacher, or your priest, but maybe the answer is too simple. Or maybe it's too complicated. You try blaming something or someone. If you're lucky, there's something objectively at fault, something with a name. It's harder if you choose a concept or an action like "society" or "violence". You can try blaming yourself, but that never ends well. You can blame God. Or you can stop believing in God. Either way, you've given up on it.
Who's to say there is any blame? Who's to say you can even help it? There are times when you just can't fix things or help people, at least not on your own. It'll be frustrating and heart breaking and you'll want to scream until your lungs give out. You'll want to spit into the face of the person closest to being the problem, the reason for all this suffering. All this pain and frustration and confusion.
Sometimes things don't make sense. Sometimes shit happens.
Bad things happen to good people. Innocent people are subjected to guilty consciences, accidents happen. No one could've known that there was a banana peel there, we all slip. Spilt milk? No use crying. Life is turned inside out since we all get flipped sometimes. And red? A vital red can go from a healthy purple to a melancholy blue in fewer seconds than it takes for a titration lab to go wrong.
But why? Mankind has always asked themselves why things go wrong, most times to conclude with unsatisfying answers. You can ask your parents, or your teacher, or your priest, but maybe the answer is too simple. Or maybe it's too complicated. You try blaming something or someone. If you're lucky, there's something objectively at fault, something with a name. It's harder if you choose a concept or an action like "society" or "violence". You can try blaming yourself, but that never ends well. You can blame God. Or you can stop believing in God. Either way, you've given up on it.
Who's to say there is any blame? Who's to say you can even help it? There are times when you just can't fix things or help people, at least not on your own. It'll be frustrating and heart breaking and you'll want to scream until your lungs give out. You'll want to spit into the face of the person closest to being the problem, the reason for all this suffering. All this pain and frustration and confusion.
Sometimes things don't make sense. Sometimes shit happens.
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