I, Bastard (tinyphilosopher) wrote in poetrycritic,
I, Bastard

Fades to Grey

Melancholy tangerine days
slowly sink into charismatic nights.
Masking the breath of another love
with cheap cans of malt liquor.
Staring into the trash can of a heart
and reaching in
only to find pictures of a past time.
You set the box of ancient photographs
on the back porch
and watch them fly.
Fly into the sunset.
Swimming like a thousand leaves.
A thousand lonely suicides
being given up to god's grace.
The centerfuge spins faster and faster.
Seperating the unwanted from the pure.
Ostracizing the rest onto a private island
of lonliness and turmoil.
Emotions spill over
A cup on a kitchen counter
Orange juice and angst.
And then it all stops.
The wheels and cogs cease to spin.
And all that is left
just fades to grey.
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