Let me tell you a story,

A tale of a world that was not quite what it seemed.

Where structures ran tall, solid, unmoving, and brave on the outside,

But tremors ran rampant underground,

A world that was concrete in its foundation and being,

Only to shiver at a gentle breeze when prying eyes turn away.

Unmoved by time and space itself,

My very being:

A world that I had created around myself.

 

But then, Black and White were caught,

Somewhere in between, and in a daze,

No longer clear as day and night,

No longer what they had been thought to be.

Gray, and gay and somewhere in between.

The days that were once Black,

And White as the nights had been,

Crissed and crossed and knew not where they were going.

 

Black and White were clashing and crooning,

Grays expounding left and right,

Flowing, flooding, floundering, fluttering,

New colors emerging bound towards the new horizons.

 

What started as the soup of Thought,

An Umber so rich and careening it then crafted Ochre,

But slurred into a sweet Sanguine,

Blended and folded into Peach only to melt into Mauve

So alive, and transcending that it crafts Cobalt and fades into the Lime and sublime,

Brightening, enlightening into a Buttercup,

And slowly, and softly, growing towards the light,

Some Snow White reality.

 

A reality so stained and putrid,

So vile and tainted, and yet…

Dreams come roaring into it,

Calamity striking at the buildings and foundations of my fascination,

My reality.

Going back to where it started,

I found a sweet, succulent, Amber-Honey.

 

A color so sweet, rich, and deep,

So full and boisterous,

Made from the most delicate of pollen,

Crafted from the true beauty of Nature,

So rich and refined that even the finest Queen B dare not glance at it.

A Honey so rare, and so gorgeous, that it can only be found in your eyes.

 

A bottomless pit of laughter, and happiness,

Illuminating the darkened, hushed, ulterior motives of my mind.

Your eyes,

The windows to your soul,

Open so wide and made of Mahogany stained dark with Hope.

A gentle breeze could but hope to pass through, and rustle the curtains of your solitude.

 

Wishes of being that breeze, being that subtle tempest,

Blow through my mind all day long,

Like wind turbines, cranking energy to every fiber of my being.

Like a shooting star only to be wished upon,

Whizzing and whirling through a world unknown.

Haunting dreams, and flowing from articulated words.

Words so explicitly designed for you,

I could but hope that they transcend the physics of my life,

To become the subtle breeze in your windows in the night,

Implanting sweet kisses on your mind,

Hoping you’ll be dreaming of me.

Of you,

Of us!

 

And when I dream,

You dream,

We dream,

We bask, we plan, and we gaze,

Longingly at one which might no so much look our way.

And sometimes, our dreams fade to reality,

Or does reality seep into our dreams?

But these dreams are fickle,

Luring us to take but one desperate gamble on our hearts.

A gamble that floats and flies,

Warm as a summer breeze,

Only to whip around and bite you with the cold, malicious, spite of the Winter Tundra.

 

And here I am,

Wishing you’d grab a fan to blow those winds back to me,

Send your sweet whispers back,

Warm and full as Spring,

Having told you the secret to transcend this intrinsic world,

To tear down these walls,

The code to the Lock of my Dreams,

The blueprints, and instructions, to a key.

A key, so lost and forgotten I could hardly recall the design,

A key to my heart.

To a lock that I dream of shattering,

Blissfully unlocked from your gentle touch,

Your pleased gaze,

And your peaceful personality.

 

A personality so rich,

Filled with wealth that even the richest of kings could barely fathom,

So diverse that a rainforest pales in comparison,

So beautiful, and so free,

And yet, you’re so blissfully unaware of everything laid in front of you.

So ignorant of the second path paved,

From me to you,

For you,

Only to be ignored.

Forgotten.

Disregarded.

Only to be claimed again by the weeds of Reality,

Forever an overgrowth of Anxiety,

Tearing away at the blocks of my world,

The ingredients of my being,

The molecules of my hopes,

The particles of my soul.

 

So here and now,

Black and White no more,

An artist’s palette forever flowing,

Painting you in a softened light,

With graceful posture,

And bright smile sculpted onto high cheekbones,

A being so grand.

Only to walk out of the portrait of my life,

My aspirations,

Into the frame of another’s.

Leaving me to feel out of touch,

Out of bounds,

Out of reality.

I’m bouncing between colors,

Moods,

People.

Trapped,

In Crimson,

In White,

In Navy,

In Violet,

And in Black.

 

Right now I’m stable,

I’m calm, even happy.

And then, off in the distance, lightning flashes,

Thunder roars,

And it all goes Crimson with anger,

I go up, and up and up,

Or at least it feels so,

Until I hit the sweet White Oblivion.

 

And then I fall, fall and fall,

AND SMACK!

I hit Navy,

A sinking, swimming sea of Navy.

Cold, loveless, and very essence of my life is being drained.

But no, it could never stop there.

It has to go deeper, Darker.

It swims, and squirms,

Freely, flowing, fluidly into the Violet.

Safety. Sanity. Somehow, somewhere,

I found it. Found it at last.

 

But no more—now I’ve been whisked away,

To a land not very far from here,

To a land under attack in my own mind.

Where a blizzard runs rampant.

My mind, freezing, frozen, frosted,

My heart, cold, clammy, and crystalline,

My soul, dashed, dead, and damned,

 Like the Black ice that sent you crashing,

As you drove by in your Emerald, socially acceptable, perfect

Pristine, worry free, arrogant little car.

Yeah, the very one that sent you into my little world, again.

40 miles to the gallon, low fume emission and seating five comfortably?

How about Vacuum of Dreams, Destroyer of Hopes, or Breaker of Hearts?

 

It’s a different place isn’t it?

Especially when you’re bouncing between colors,

Between moods,

Between people?

Now that you’re on my level,

It’s not so hard to see, now is it?

Harder to breathe, isn’t it?

Try it tangled in a web of confusion,

A web strung out of Colors, Moods, People,

By the Spider of Insanity.

Where Rose colored love forms a line straight to you,

Only to be twisted at an angle,

And flow seamlessly into Scarlet straight down the road to Hell.

Try it with my hands around your throat,

My words like daggers against your skin,

Pushing you closer and closer to the brink—

A brink, so bottomless and brutal,

So callous and crazed,

That any thoughts of Sanity are long gone?

Yeah. The one you pushed me against.

 

But now it dips down deeper,

Digging into the Black.

Nothing moves,

Nothing lives,

And there are no emotions.

It’s colder,

Quieter,

And strangely serene.

And I’m here way too often,

But now, I’ve got company.

 

Yet strangely, you don’t fit here.

You are the norm and the natural,

Out of position and place in what was my intrinsic little world.

Here, you are the quirky and the unusual,

So Thrive, in a land meant for you,

A land where I couldn’t hope to come close to,

Before they dig up your roots too,

And bleed you for all your worth.

Where the time is now,

You cannot, must not, will not wait.

 

This is my gift to you, and I hope you will see it through and through.

Though the Pain will not fade,

This I know to be true,

I could take yours too,

And leave you with a map.

A map to my mind, my heart, my soul.

A guide to keep you from falling into the dark clutches.

And now I know, that to this day,

You’ll be cautious and safe,

Beautiful, despite the fright on your face,

And wave you a glad goodbye,

As you walk out of my mind,

Out of my life. Forever.