I walk out and sweat
my color to a pallor
that's pale.
Locked in a world of
gray as my daily jail.

My statue turns meek, the
skin ghastly and ashen. Variegated
grades of gray, thrown as slashes
from the paintbrush, is like
a scourge producing lashes.

A grating from a fingernail
on a tooth brush coated with paint
producing a splattering. Just another
gray, a person spitting in your
face, enjoying the battering.

Children playing and running
around though the veiled mist.
Remind you of your age and the
childhood now long missed.

Attractive women are like an
infra-red image, grainy and
veined. Turn away as if there
is no more room for you to remain.

Walking through this world of
long dark thorns. I bleed out
coal tar as if I was the one
ridiculed as a king and scorned.

I lay my head on the tear stained pillow
on my bed. A funny thing happens
to me instead.

I get the sense of being washed
and massaged restoring me back
to my tan-ish luster, my skin.
Just a little song of yours
fills me with life again.

No matter how you think about
yourself, your skin is like a
butterflies wing. That glancing
flutter tickles me to once again
sing.

I hear the notes of your dance, just
like a butterflies flight. Whether a
flipily-flipily, fluttering hipity
hop or a swoop to the next flower stop.

Robed in the colors of this floating
rainbow, no matter what grays the winds
blow; just the slightest thought of you,
not only colors my life, but also makes
 them glow.