ONE PLUS ONE EQUALS GREY.

We fight to come

And we fight to go

We wrestle with our unchanging curls

Like the wind wrestles with supple tree branches

Insistent on bringing about a change

When the only possible change

After a storm of this magnitude

Is destruction.

Shells upon shells of placated beings

Conforming to and fro

And commuting fro and to

In single files of black and white

Sometimes merging

A caramel or two

But mostly

A swede and his chocolate

We fight to come

We fight to go

But more often than not

Get stuck in between.

Published by alexiima

Life's a party in a sunflower field. Even when we wilt, we are beautiful to behold.

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