GoodMorning, Glory

I can speak to you entirely in color, entirely.

I left a white cage, with golden locks; chambers sealed in cauldron red to disperse a King, worthy of notoriety. Once we dispersed, we noticed how the clouds draped in purple line construction, hindered the lines between progression and property. The lines between connection and displacement. I became more aware of yellow, golden crossroads required to reach glory. Magenta flavored trips, of soft lips and gazes adorned all of my days, until the officer called again, to tell me the black ink on the lost ticket was still wet. Blood, black blood, made its way onto my white surface sampled from the cage I left when tarnished hearts once bronze, began to silver into anger and remorse. So I visited the unrequited, dabbled in the unforgiving and listened to the quiet song of new creation. Failure, because you saw green, once I mentioned the pink stains left on my glory trip. I found this trip more colorful than ever, because they were colors I never saw entering my world. Now I float, contemplating in a state of dreary wear, and undefined perfection. Virginia Woolf, sickness provides a lens solely for the use, of understanding what is more superficial in health. I notice one can truly hold onto gold and white, when he loses the black and grey abyss of his soul. Today red turns my dreams into reality, well we dance into our reality. There is a lot more for me to conquer, first please just let me see the doctor. I have been a little blue, jazz…right Louis.

 

 

 

 

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