Grey is my favourite colour

Stumbled upon a vibrant palette,

When all my life I’ve been anchored to just grey.

Pulled the trigger while engraving adios on the casket,

I got the worst Sidam touch, they say.

A flower every day causes my nausea to stay,

When I pour water, it turns into kerosene,

And igniting matches has forever been my forte,

It wasn’t an accident, the circumstances were foreseen.

Even as I spoke, I sensed a future scar,

Planted the seeds of waning comfort.

Here I go again, fiddling with the lid of the jar

That traps a tangled mess of apologies unheard.

Tiptoed on this slippery glass floor,

Took the first step, despite the fate being clear.

Blurry words can bring about blood and gore,

Now I fear that my knife would be the only souvenir.