I remember when all of my dreams were in rainbow. Now, everything I do I have to Technicolor because it's all become so black and white... so subtle hues, no longer Prismacolor me and you. I sharpen those pencils, but they still come up dull. I shade and shade and shade, but it all comes up a shady review. I miss the rainbow when my dreams were caught all throughout the day; and not just late at night, when I couldn't sleep because everything was dark, and too steep to climb, and only in rhyme because I have not become THAT gray poet.
His mind had patterns, patterns that made puzzles, and puzzles that became mazes. Those mazes had color and became labyrinths— labyrinths that went crazy like jungles— and all he could trust me with was letting my fingers get lost in his curls. I played in there, for years trapped in his hair (that overthought and provoked lair)— the only thing between my thoughts and his: the air. But, he was smart not to trust me enough. He knew. The open air looked at him with slight eyes, issued him binds of lies, like library cards ...full of fiction. And I knew this, so how could I forget? Along the way, I turned into every other female he ever loved. It was his destiny that gave me permission to pull his hair again.
Once upon a time ago, you loved me in Photoshop. When I was monochromatic, you gave me texture. You went through my layer mask and hit......'Reveal All'. I remember when you stared at me like I was saturated; but, sometimes I don't remember that once upon a time ago without seeing your background image losing its magic lens.