colors

do the colors make a difference?

my eyes say yes but my heart says no

I watch the world glitter and shine with supposed vibrancy 

but reality will only ever be black and white

experiences are determined fact by an earthly mortal

authenticity is  a facade in itself

gravity isn’t comforting

it holds me down.

these colors are reminiscent of the real “real life”

they giggle and whisper behind their hands

pointing and laughing like they know something I don’t

I catch a glimpse of the reflection of the transluscent habitat where authenticity dwells

it isn’t here.

I stretch my hand out to touch it before it explodes like a soap bubble

infuriating and beautiful and desirable

how do I get there?

maybe that’s part of the human existence

granted with the ability to watch but never experience

to imagine but never comrehend

to ponder but not perceive 

to watch these iridescent hues wash over me in waves of epiphany in my dreams is torture

these shades of grey hurt my eyes

the darkness stabs like icicles

sharp and cold

and white leaves me empty like a cavernous hunger beating steadily at my lungs

do the colors make a difference?

yes

they leave nothing but longing….

of hope…

of warmth…

bringing nothing but an insatiable desire to dive into them

wrap myself in them

live in them.

why torture myself?

daydreaming of endless depths of tone…

because I would rather hurt in color

than feel nothing at all.