Colors

Why is there no gray for me?

No soft landing, no in-between.

Just black or white, nothing else.

I hate it. I hate this.

I hate what I've become—

A shadow of choices I can't undo,

A reflection of regrets that never fade.

I wish I could turn back time,

Undo the damage, rewrite the pain.

I wish I'd had the courage

To end it when the pull was strongest.

But I can't be that selfish.

I can't leave scars on their hearts,

Even as death whispers in my ear:

"End it now. Let go.

Cut deeper—come on, you know you want to."

And there I am, in the kitchen,

Facing the same blade

That's kissed my wrist a thousand times.

The river flows, red and relentless,

But it's never enough.

Not enough to quiet the screams,

Not enough to bring peace.

And somewhere deep inside,

A quieter voice fights back:

"Not yet. Fight. You've got this.

I've got you."

But I don't believe it.

I don't believe in better days

When all I've ever known is black and white—

Bad days stitched together with fleeting, fragile moments of light.

I scream at the silence,

At a God who doesn't answer:

"Why me? Why this?

Why can't I just be normal?"

But there's no reply.

So I close my eyes.

And in the darkness, I dream—

Of a world painted in colors.

Vivid and alive.

No black. No white. No gray.

Just colors.

Just happiness.

Until I find the courage

To live fully or let go,

I'll stay here, dreaming

Of a life where my soul is free

And everything shines

In color.