Color is divine. Color is passion.

Mine ran into the shadows

At the first sign of illumination.

The waves of gray are an ocean—

I run into the tunnel,

Moth to zapper—

Deer to high beams—

My wide-eyed innocence pulled to opposite ends of the pendulum—

Swinging in the gloam,

Where what they call the greener pastures

Are merely myths of men.

His fingerprints smudged the exterior walls of my glass house.

As if my transparency was a malevolent spirit

Coming back to haunt me from my past

Of monochromatic morals.

I love him,

When the oxygen doesn’t feel as heavy

And loathe him

When my lungs are thick with smog.

I’m dreading middle ground.

Rationality being a foreign concept.

The black sweeps me up

And cradles my head—

The white only swallows me.

Oh, but through their hazes,

I see warmth and safety—

A sky with softness,

A graham cracker crust

And marshmallow clouds.

Suddenly, the tunnel has arms

That wrap around me,

Bringing the joy to its knees—

Singing its song of better days.

Lighting the beacon

So again I’ll never stray.