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MAGENTA (19/10/2023) back His scarred and bruised body, tracing the angles and edges. The room is cold and empty, clinical. Now, through closed eyes, he peers through a second set of eyes, And summons wavelengths he imagines out of frustration. Now, it's not because of any active desire, So much as it's a hunger for thermal vision that only picks up The warmest hues he can imagine. When he falls backwards onto the floor, he sinks, The psychedelic floor is soft, warm, suffocating, and eats him alive. With his eyes still shut tight, his body falls limp as he becomes nothing. He becomes nothing and nobody, blending into the color, Becoming one with the warm buzz of light he manifests. He surrenders everything he is and ever was, kissing the back of his hand, Everything is magenta, he is magenta, and what a warm color it is. No longer a machine, no longer a beast, he doesn't bleed, He laughs and kicks his legs and smiles stupidly, Dumb as a brick, airhead, light as air, no longer carrying the weight Of a pile of bricks on his back, one for each memory, what makes him sick, He laughs maniacally as he breathes in the warm air, You're losing your color, losing your facets, losing you, turning blue. Almost asphyxiating, he frantically claws for the surface, And his eyes snap open, now back on Earth, His scars are still tender and his bruises are still sore. Truthfully, he can only pretend to be what he isn't, And magenta isn't even a real color, it has no wavelength- Suffocating to death just seemed better than a thousand cuts.  |
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