Color

Rotten fruits and funerals

Clouded days, hiding sun from view

Like fresh bruises from a fall

Or a piece of forgotten bread

Piano keys that dance under finger tips

Like models who prance in slimming jeans and turtle necks

Eyeliner so thick it invokes the superiority of their class

To better show such boldness

Teeth that hang, that stink from worry

Fur soiled with the soil of turmoil

Covering up spots of history

As if a sorry were enough to fix such things

Seeds and spices that render you senseless

Offering a bit of clarity to one’s senses

Sticky hash, globs of poppy

On the nod, eyes are heavy

The collection of Halloween themed cats in mother’s stairway

Hollow from standing so still

A job with no volunteers, guiding children through the streets

Wearing costumes of real killers and dead freaks

Stepping on pieces of uneaten Tootsie Rolls

Buildup of regret

Wishing you hadn’t worn your leather pumps