blue {d8} fin cb

Walking the same streets day after day, looking from left to right in hopes of seeing a silver lining in between the tufts of grass and crusty dirt paths. It wouldn't be easy, not really, especially when the picture of your father behind bars just turns every droplet of colour in your life grey. You'd understood that being born into a broken home was a lottery and that the random ticket brought you here, but inside you, you felt there was someone to blame. 

But you couldn't lay your finger on who, exactly.

There were many culprits which brought you to this place in life. Mother, father, grandparents, sister, brother, cousins, aunties and uncles and the list goes on and on -- but still you stayed close to home and blamed the one person you thought you'd understand the most. Yourself. And they never knew. You have eyes like blacked-out glass: you can see out but they can't see in. And so, you lived taking each day on the chin: quiet and alone, isolated from the world.

You look at yourself in the mirror and can't see it in you. You can't see the part of you which brought you here. It's deeper than your reddening skin and it's through the gates of cold, brown hair. You wish you could peel away the dry layers so try and pinpoint that part of you, but even your wildest dreams can't conjure such a thing.

But still you walk down the same old streets followed by memories of liquid filled syringes and capsules of red and blue. And though you pray for things to change: for the weather to clear or for life to spring into colour: your mind still forces you to blame yourself for the events in your bloodline.

If only you knew.

{299}