The world is consistency.
Falling pallid against the beautiful colors
we pretend exist
while we only try to create them in our minds.
Such as a never ending melody
Playing on-and-on like a wind up box.
The power of perfection
Is nothing but a grid,
a pattern.
Walking through life,
uninhibited by the colors
surrounded by the perfect cookie cut shapes.
Become plastered so deep.
Pencils moving in perfect lines,
the need to erase the sorrow; make the page white.
New beginnings are what we want
when the colors run away.
You will not let the beauty of mistakes
Become the reason you matter.
Wishing you were still beneath the sheet.