Colors.
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness,
drowning in a pool of bohemian rhapsody,
hating the big boys, detesting the mainstream,
and savoring the stench of vintage cigarettes.
I floated with them last summer,
when my dream began on a sunset trip of puff, puff, bang.
I used our colors to paint over the landscapes of my mind,
covering the muggy grayness with yellows, pinks, and artificial blues.
the hazy weather left us only half-baked,
sleeping as the heat consumed our flesh, bones, and sanity.
I woke in September with faded tints and brightened eyes,
while the others drifted on in nauseating nightmares.
“ask me anything, ‘cos I’ll try anything once.”
Top 40, Hot 100, T-Swift’s latest single,
But they’d rather dance to the Castro screams in Cleveland,
or munch burgers from organic cow pies,
or grow out their chest hair,
or hitch a ride to Bangor with some pedo for the simple sake of storytelling.
“ask me anything, ‘cos I’ll try anything once.”
they’re not hipsters, beatniks, flower children, or non-conformists.
they’re crazy, perverted, self-declared artists with so much will to live that it’s killing them.
he’s painting with blood,
she’s drawing with piss,
and I’m crying because the bottles of color aren’t just there to sit pretty.
can we taste the colors? I like them salty, with a little bit of acid rain to make the punch line just a little stronger.
“ask me anything, ‘cos I’ll try anything once.”
I’ll lick them up good and kick as hard as I can, deep in to the underbelly of the millions that represent the destruction of our dying civilization.
let the colors ravage your soul. slurp them up at Shanghai Noon, Portland Midnight, and Brooklyn Dawn until you’re stoned under a blanked of putrid desires,
cowering for love, place and the glorious numbers.
20-4-100, 30-6, 4-point-oh.
these are the colors you’re supposed to need,
these are the colors tenderly burning my body.
the pain, the ecstasy,
just a gentle and necessary violation for the masses.
“ask me anything, ‘cos I’ll try anything once.”
but what has become of our coming-of-age tale? what has become of my brightest colors?
my violet senses are blowing hard,
my crimson is dripping faster now.
I’m running through the 11th dimension,
swimming out of the blue,
feeling around left and right in the dark.
Finally, I have pulled my own one-way trigger.
Let’s float on in another dream, crisper and cleaner and even better than being 17.

forgive me for wanting the natural shades,
forgive me for taking your colors away.