The monochromatic room
Speaks in a whispered volume
Through the window by the bed
I look outside at the pouring rain
Holding a cigarette.
Hazy smoke fills the air
Blurring the 70-square foot room
I close my eyes
Listen to the sound of the pouring rain
Holding a cigarette.

In some kind of a dreamy state
Feeling some kind of euphoric sense of freedom
Smoke rises from the chimneys of old roofs
The world has turned grey
From the streets and the skies to the walls of the room
Like the falling ash
Like this metallic chair
On which I sit in my white underwear
Taking in a deep drag
Feeling the sharpness of the smoke
Buzzing through my mind
Through my bare naked feet
It feels right
I wonder why?
Why does everything bad have to feel so good?
The heaviness
The carelessness
The messy sheets
The art on the walls –
The only thing worth holding on to.
This greyness in the air
Is like a song that plays
In some corner of the mind
This greyness in the air
Brings out the freak inside
Looking up at the sky
With one foot on the chair
and one hand resting on the knee
Holding on to this burning desire
A grey wisp of smoke curls in the air.

Holding on to all that’s present in this
Dull artistic greyness
Writing away all that I want
All that I feel,
Old memories come back to life.
Where has that girl gone?
Disappeared like thin air
Into the mist
Reckless and bold,
Sassy and cold.
Hidden somewhere deep inside
Safe in a grey corner of my mind.