It's all gray, the smoke curling up,
Off the cigarette, menthol infused,
Off my skin, peeling and charred,
It's all gray, like my vision into the beyond.
Even this is gray, my once-red lungs,
Tarred with the smoke taken in, no breaks,
Even this is gray, my bedsheet, my pillows,
But wet with gray tears shed for some reason.
If only those tears could be red.
If only I had the strength,
To drag myself out of bed,
To do anything other than watch the ash
Pile up and up and up.
Gray embers of what might have been
But never will be because now even I,
Am reduced to ash.
All because I forgot,
A simple err in the long sojourn on the bed,
To take that tall drink of water
With some bright red pill
To bring back the colours in my life
That I no longer remember how to paint.
