SMALL TALKS

grey.

it could all be seen through thick fog, thick fog constructed of smouldering grey and iron, chalked thick on a canvas of onyx and grey, smudged grey, swiped over a messy background, one of fog, one of fingernails on a chalkboard.

she was screaming, screaming so loud you couldn't hear,
or maybe you didn't want to hear,
but would you not want to rescue the screaming mouth of the one you love the most?
apparently, not everything is as it seems, not when your eyes are open and bleeding with false emotion or nor when she's screaming, screaming, SCREAMING, with her mouth wide shut. she didn't want you to come home, anyway: besides, you'd thrown away the key long ago, but not like she'd know.

apparently, when the sun sets behind the skyline and soaks up the light from the stars at night, you think of her: her racked head to toe in ivory silk, hair like a halo, but that's not what she was, not really: you didn't want to be loved, not by her: it wasn't like she needed you: or what did she need? you didn't need her: you needed to be alone and to be absorbed in your own mind: she needed you: and you wasn't there. her halo smashed to a million pieces: the halo in your head: but that's absurd: how can you destroy what what was never there?

sometimes this world gets smattered in grey, grey and onyx, like a canvas, or maybe we're the canvas, allowing others to simply paint their words onto our skin, and like the fools we are, we'll drink it in, because the mind works in such a way, a way that most will always believe everything that one says: even the simple i love you or i'll be yours forever or you mean nothing in this world and nothing to me and you're simply a smudge of grey in an ocean of gold and that's all you'll ever be.

i think in the end, we all just want to be loved and to be wanted, but when we're coated in grey and onyx, when we're painted and tainted and have created hell for ourselves, all we want really is ourselves. you can only undo what has been done, what you've done, what you've created and destroyed, and the only one there for you is you: she wanted you, but you wasn't there, so she went. then you realised how much light she'd poured in between your bones. but it was too late.

maybe everything isn't all that it seems. not grey and onyx. maybe colours don't even exist at all.