The light sat with me in those days of quiet melancholy,
A warm pink received me with open arms that stretched out to the length of our sofa.
No one can deny the power of light,
A dimmable being made of consuming flame.
I got comfortable and considered dying,
I only asked that you'd go after me.
I'm not ready to be undead again, plus the incalculable pain. One of us will die first. I just hope it'll be me.
Maybe it's wrong to play Gods and humans.

But I wonder what is to be!
There's something I need to see, but I don't know 
What it is
Or where it is.
I turn every rock, lift it and PEEKABOO!
'Is happiness underneath you?'
I carry on street after street,
And happiness behind me never cracks a chuckle, never tells itself.
A weightless balloon attached to my wrist
Follows me around, yet I insist on looking down, underneath each rock.

I sit comfortably and consider dying.

The sun was a fat, juicy orange in my horizon
And with surprising ease I grabbed it.
My nails were short but still piercing through the thick peel.
The juice was oozing, stinging on the fresh cuts I made while mishandling things.
And the smell! It was so strong it went far past the orange into the tree that mothered it.
The essential oils were sparking the feeble flame in me and I felt ignited for once.
The colours and touches were frightful, the juice dripping in my hands was making me sticky.
I stuck to life by accident
When I reached for the succulent sun behind the mountain,
And it's unclear whether I regret it or not.

"Orange to keep my tears,
Orange to justify me,
Orange to smear my feelings,
Orange to flavour my fears."

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