sepia days

There are days I lock my door and don't want to let you in.
There are nights I sleep in a cold and loveless bed and want to beg you to knock that same door down. Daze of silence a whisper would be too loud. And days nothing could break me.

I must remind myself to breathe because I live too much in the past and the sepia of long ago can be addictive. Sadness becomes a sickness.
Some times I don't recognize my own life, but never a day I want to shut the light out.

My words are too heavy and purple skies stain my walls. Poetry is pain, trust betrayed is a lie. Music lets me hide while I regain my sight. Desolate days I can't walk but my imagination can run. Unbearable darkness so I crave the sun.

But this multicolored thing creates me and I call it life. Coloring it in one day, one page at a time.