Contorting Colors

My mind waves a banner of rebellion at the dawn of each day, sending signals to barricaded corridors of my brain that corrupt the mainframes complex functions running the mechanics of rust red muscles and veins.

There is no connection between me and this jaded brain. It wishes to move freely onto its own escapade, even though I constantly stand in the way. Two fronts of a battlefield standing within pink trenches, fighting for the same wretched thing.

Ugly black bombs drop constantly sending spasms of razor wire down my spine, and dirt covered mines pop beneath my feet with an agonizing POW, sending me airborne only to stall. Whispering blue electricity dances through my fingertips, their feet ever-tapping on the tendons of my purple bruised hands, sending them through white-powdered walls unconventionally in the way.

A song plays sweetly is enough to make my pale yellow bones try to escape from my tired flesh and to try and take control would be in vain for each pill of the reins is just another excuse for my skeleton to dance harder in the hopes of breaking away to it’s own unholy plain.

At the end of the day, when my muscles ache, and my grey eyes sag away to dreams unknown, there is always going to be one thing I’m certain of; when the morning Sun hits my face, the war will rage again in the form of a twitch, a shutter, and a bone contorting shake.