I can’t think
in peach-colored visions.
I used to think in so many colors,
They’d splatter against the canvas and cause so much clutter.
Now it’s blank and I can’t seem to fill it
No matter how hard I try to will it.
My hands are falling way out of touch,
Touching the keyboard doesn’t do much.
When my fingertips reach for a word,
It slips away with the rest, gone unheard.
I miss the watercolor visions, one big blur
Splashing against the edges so rigid and sure.
They’d blend and bend, break and churn,
So unlike me, as I would learn.
Now I can no longer rhyme or tell the time,
I can no longer sing or cry or plea or whine,
Speak or walk or try or fight,
Color or create or write.
is my attempt to retrieve my mind.