Sallow sorrows sing
their sickly yellow blues;
they jaundice thoughts in jars
of tars
of varied rainbow hues.
From the swirling thick,
I extricate,
a plate
of fate,
of dirge and wake.
Why choose the bleak
that reek,
when there’s a spectrum,
given me?
I do not know,
Nor wish to think.
I feel I’m tripping
at the brink.
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Submission Name: Twitchy
