Fifty greys of me


There’s a certain beauty in the incomplete
A certain relevance to the obsolete
Because in between the two
There’s void I call home
Amidst a fifty greys
That sometimes fade into reds just because they want to
And in those greys
there’s no compulsion to comprehend
Just a strange desire to co-exist with cyclones without trying to unravel them
And in this void
Madness is still alive
Sometimes I can feel it breathing down my neck
Like a strange infected creature on the loose
In a fraction of a moment
It is and then it isn’t
And I’m left with my existence in a mad grey void
No beginnings
No ends
Just the sound of my own breath
And fifty greys that sometimes bleed into reds
Just because they want to

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