At present. Will I ever
Get out of this?
Won't I ever be able
To function as I
Should? I can't focus,
I can't eat:
I either roll and
Dread all night, or lack
The energy to keep
My eyes aloft through
The day. My bed
Is draped with
Poppies and bluebonnets,
Enticing, calling for me.
It is as though her
Arms have wrapped around
Me, and she whispers
Dark things, colors
My world with a single
Tint of Karen blue.
Every time I think,
My head goes spinning
And I can hardly
Ever find the drive to
Concentrate on a single
Thing, a single idea,
For long enough to be
Productive.
Me? Productive?
I wish! I'm far
Too busy skipping across
This insane rainbow
Of myself that twists
And turns through the
Clouds, never deciding
Where it might lead.
When ever have colors
Been less joyful than this?
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