Every meal’s just ashes on my tongue,
the world’s on mute,
every song unsung.
Touch is just a memory,
faded and worn,
I’m a silhouette in the twilight,
tattered and torn.
Sex is just a motion,
empty and cold,
laughter’s a language from stories old.
I’m wading through fog,
where colors erase,
trapped in the dull weight
of shadow’s hold.
Living in grayscale,
nothing feels right.
I’m lost in a world without appetite.
Watching the dust
as it dances in light,
hoping for color
to pierce through the night.
My bed’s a raft on a silent sea,
motionless waters of apathy.
Time slips by, unmarked by the sun,
I wait for a sign,
for something to come.
What’s the cure for a world
that’s turned gray?
How do you breathe
when air’s turned away?
I’m searching for sparks that might ignite,
a reason to feel,
to fight through the night.
I’m waiting still, as life drifts past,
for a moment of color to hold at last.
In the quiet, a whisper, a subtle plea,
for the grayscale to fade,
and let me be free.