pain is a color

and the struggle has been the dickens.. an absolute motherfucker, a rug burn, trying..and although the rules are mine. I can’t help but feel as I always have.

it’s not as if the map is clear, and I won’t stray too far, but if you happen to see me.. with my hair on hurt, and if you feel me with my words as I think them, believe what you have witnessed. something I have to be. the never I am meets the hope.. how obedient you have been to stay away.

my tone has been challenging, my weakness ever peaking. cause love ain’t got no memory of the way those light turned low turned high but low in the periphery.. tricking me.. my love..I have been tripping. I know you know. you know me.

so I’ll leave that light burning. and starve the ego, cause its not a friend..it is the sword, and my voice is rising. it speaks in the wave of discolored sight.. you my evermore..

you my everything

art credit: Blind man holding a cat (c. 1850). Unidentified maker. Daguerreotype