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A Fresh Palette
Water from a painter’s cup was laid across my eyes,
Swiped over my lashes with a soothing brush, leaving dew along the soft lines.
A plethora of candy coated light hit my eyes all at once,
My submerged corpse resurfaced from a grayscale nightmare,
The choppy waves of old polaroids released me,
And I could see all 64 brilliant features of a crayon box.
All of my tears became drippings from a watercolour palette,
They tossed about me, tearing the remnants of my illness away from me.
That’s all I remember from the moment it all changed.
My world had been bleached, dyed, and handed to me on a canvas.
Suddenly I could understand the between-the-lines beauty of the world.
My irises were cleared away of the cobwebs and crooked glass,
I could see again.
I beheld white like never before,
Somewhere among the dirty hospital floors I was leaving behind.
Crimson flashed out at me at every stop sign,
And the azure sky was the brightest piece in my freedom song.
They were absent for so long,
I forgot how beautiful they all were.
It was as if I had been blinded with black and white,
Told how to see by a monster I never did leave until now.
My wrists were marked, but the chains were gone.
And I could see