Crying over a pile of laundry
heavy sobs -
I didn't separate
lights from darks.
And isn't that just like
my life?
Colors bleed - depression gray,
nostalgia periwinkle, soft
love persimmon, lost love ocher -
until the emotions bloody,
muddy their premises.
A soup of sorrows with
no discernible
ingredients of joy or woe,
exists.
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