Everything was gray. The soft rays of the sun turned rough and the stars didn't shine as bright. His hair had faded into the sludgy steel that matched the feathers of a mockingbird. Even the lit cigarette was gray, the smoke it gave off was like the soft black of a rat's fur. The outside has a depressing glow as he looked at the tight and twisted storm esque clouds. The world was gray. His mind had been emptied by the loose faucet in his brain. His veins were as though metal was pumped through them and the color of lead flooded his eyes. Waves crashed along the rugged shore like lips to the neck, the were destructive, but not permanent. The sea was the color of smoke, thick old smoke, and the shore was ashes. Ashes of cancer and age.
YOU ARE READING
My poems
RandomI will write my deepest, saddest thoughts here. Warning, you may cry, or scream, or tell someone you love them more then ever. But please don't be angry with me.
