Can I Say Goodbye?

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I couldn't tell you which ones of us were sick.

Not physically ill, but so fucked in the head that a hospital gown might be a better fate anyway.

I woke up in shades of gray for months straight.

Those miserable hues where you often wonder: "Should I kill myself today"?

But lips don't form to ask questions like that, and unfortunately honesty doesn't apply to suicide.

Which is a shame being that the suicidal mind would read through that fairy tale bullshit without even a fraction of a teal streak.

I woke up in shades of gray for months.

Often I'd stay in between my gray sheets, with my gray sweatpants and gray mind, and speak my thoughts candidly.

Though, I'd be lying if I said I didn't often think of livening things up.

When gray itself became gray, I'd ponder tingeing my little gray world blue.

Streaks of blue, a little chocolate and a cup of coffee would do.

Hell I'd do it all again just to learn from my mistakes one last time.

I deserved to.

I made it to the age where it's all supposed to change.

And I couldn't even tell you which of us were sick.

But I heard I wasn't alone.