The Blackened

This tale is true and mine. A world Of wonder and color surrounded me Long-ago. Bliss, fulfillment and freedom Dwelled by my side. This picturesque planet, For a person who renders it useless. Me: an inmate imprisoned in darkness. Colors bleed out in streams of absence As blackness seizes their thrones. Pictures, paintings and murals are consumed By infernos of midnight flames. They serve no purpose. Stripped from Their homes, oh how the walls stand naked. Books: letters, burst with ink. Flooding Pages in wretched shadows, leaving them Handicapped within this nightmare. Mirrors: Oh how they no longer haunt my approval, For my existence is not within them. This reflective world is so foreign. As I Do not perceive it. Gleaming light bulbs Nay not be ignite, as they do not Illuminate this gloom. I see the night within the day. Emotions through sight, dead, they now lay. For I see nothing, but feel everything Before me. I’m lifeless, but living. I shall not exist in a world Of wonder and color. Only In a world that is four out of five. I shall exist in touch and in taste. In fragrance and in hearing, but blackened Shall my eyes stay For its been too long since they’ve gone away.