There is no grey

the burnt pucker kiss
that once healed
the smashed dollhouse
and childhood
poisons
the same veins
it once saved
from becoming
a bathroom puddle

china white horse
of a different color
black rider now
stampeding
rather than
carrying me away
to a world
devoid
of the grey
of Sundays

1 comment:

  1. I've tried to write this comment 5 times but I'm having difficulty expressing myself. This poem is amazing.

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