Sentimental Grey Poem by Byepolar Bayer

I could claim that I drag myself here
like a dog that’s sick of rainbow vomit,
but it’s better this than reading breves
and aping the shapes of words
long sucked dry of sense and savouring
by the mouths of reckless intention.

Abandon, like the winds, and the wishes
that were flowers once, burned crazy in me -
long enough to bring me to this place
where nightmares and desperate hope
are chiselled into something
tame enough to hang on walls, to prove

the divide. The missing link is mockery
that ensnares in words that wrestle to evade;
I write myself into a spiral lock,
a new weed infused with more of the same -
less the colour and the transience.
This is the grey between the embers

of the sudden flaring joy that captures
and the bullet holes in the mind
too slow and cold to parry,
to resist surprise when spring insists
on forcing through bouquets of shadow
shaped for craving, shaped to fuel
this absurd refusal.