I lost my touch.
And know I say that
in the most literal sense.
Reading the lines of my fingertips,
realizing they are only what a scientist has made of them.
And I won’t stop thinking
because I don’t know how.
Reach out
to finger my way through fog.
Haze.
Haze of all colors,
not just purple.
Fingertips may turn the colors
that classify a rainbow.
But I can’t reflect their identity
the way I want to,
the way one might need me too.
Run around
to escape the overwhelming human presence.
Existence.
Existence of all colors,
not just purple.
Comments
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THis is so intresting I enjoyed reading this it is well written thanks for sharing!!
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