There is nothing wrong with my eyes but
I don’t see colour much these days.
The whole world is gun metal grey
Dull but violent
Polished but rough
I feel like a bullet,
Trapped between ever-closing walls of grey.
Load me up,
I will shoot the colour dead
Take off the safety,
I will bleed gunpowder
Choking on my own sulphur
My lungs are charcoal black
I sing my medicated swan song
Over the drone of daily life
I muzzle myself,
I can’t stand my own voice.
Every day is a revolver,
It is roulette
Waiting on the final bullet
I keep looking for the colour
But I don’t like flowers much these days
I can’t seem to keep them alive
There’s nothing wrong with my hands
But petals crumble in my fingers
I am dull but violent
Living things stay away from me
They can tell my roots won’t grow.
The whole world is gunmetal grey
And I feel like a bullet
Waiting to be fired
The heat is at my back
But I can’t move forward
I don’t see much colour these days
I think I’d miss the target
Don’t aim at anything you don’t want dead, they said
Don’t point that thing at the mirror, they said
You can’t shoot the colours away, they said
If you push too much
There’s only one place left to go
Elka Scott writes short and novel-length fiction as well as poetry. They studied creative writing and psychology in university and are currently working to become a creative writing therapist. Elka lives in Saskatchewan and recently received a grant from the Saskatchewan Arts Board to write their first graphic novel.