I’m not sure what it is about the

clouds.

The overlapping sadness that continuously

folds into itself.

The soft grey edges that block out every

ray of sunshine.

Something about it,

confuses me.

Where was this sadness born,

which dark stream have I sipped from?

I watch as the endless clouds

roll through my pink sky,

waiting for more than just a glimpse of color.

I hope for the day when all the blinding colors

will surround me, envelope me,

wishing that day were today.

And yet, here I stand.

Alone.

Upon a brown pile of shit.

The stench covered by a sickeningly sweet perfume.

Here I stand.

Alone,

and dreaming.

I watch the mountains far away,

blanketed in a mist of hatred,

the trees burn with angst and

fear.

I know that this is my own doing.

Yet I continue.

Tumbling down from my throne

of putrid bile.

I know that the end is near

and the day of redemption

will never save me.

The clouds have grown too

thick and wretched

to let me see the light.

So, I wait.

In my waste.

Alone,

and glorious.