inevitable

eight

eventually,

the days start to blur.

everything

even the grayscale landscape

that used to

paint

my entirety-

-that used to paint

my reality.

and it tugs at me.

when i wonder,

'when did i let it get this bad?'

--

some days,

(the good days)

i ponder,

questions driving me insane,

along with the answers

i will never get.

--

or so it goes.

--

how have you been?

are you doing okay?

have you gotten over the hearbreak?

...

or did you ever even love me?

--

maybe it's selfishness

maybe it's not.

the world is often described

as a haunting

black

and

white.

but never,

never

in between.

--

but there will never truly be a true saint in this world.

not with all the liars

and all the pain

and heartbreak

not with the cruelty that paints our reality.

--

so if they described you as the colour