She wishes She could tan Beneath fluorescent Lights. The constant static Far too soft, The sterile air, The cool cocoon Bathed in beige And calm yet morbid grey, But neutral bland chromatics Never fostered Sprouting wings. That process sounds too gory, Filled with hurt. She hates this Fraudulently promising cage But isn't quite convinced A step away Would lead to green And indigo. She's finished with All pain Forever. She remains, Longing for a window. - 5/16/25
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