I see nothing lovely around.
Washed colors that don't amuse me
abound around me.
The negative
is moving and inspiring.
Bad textures on my finger tips.
Bad poetry in my brain.
I can go on,
and on, and on.
What would b the point.
Nothing lovely around anymore.
Washed colors don't amuse me,
and washed colors that amused me.
I can change.
