The Grey

I am weary, yet I carry on

And march into the daily battle with my mind.

Please, do not tell me how I look tired, yet mumble

disagreements on my exhaustion, how I can possibly

be tired when I don’t have kids. I

am the kid, and I am the adult. There is ying, there

is yang and the black and white of it all vaguely submerges into the grey where

my mood stays, and here you are again

telling me that I am pathetic. If you want to sift through

and make the blurred lines thick and bold again then feel

free to try and fucking fix me. Go ahead, I’m sure your “wise” words are

exactly what I need to wrestle this fucking bear off me. Your white knight manners

are not going to rescue this princess from the tower because I am the one

Who shut myself in here and threw away the key. There is a fear in freedom

and what makes you think I was ever free from this dark?

Don’t just write this off as a chemical reaction when this is a toxic war and the ones that are being poisoned off against me are the ones I want to hold closely

It’s so so selfish to let them choke under this tainted fumes.

I am the Grey. The Grey is me.


K. Thwaites.

2 thoughts on “The Grey

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