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Running Colors

Always seeing,
vision tainted in scarlet,
And a mind painted pearl,
To a soul,
Faded not painted,
Not tinted but cold.
Bars of your cell not metal but persons,
Judgmental and raving,
“you are not good enough”,
“you’ll never make it”.
Each remark stripping color,
and ripping the vivid,
once rainbow innocence,
into conformity,
the absence of color.
Tainted black, for the coma,
Of a mind no longer vexed,
Where the only argument left,
Who gets to die next?

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