Ode to Grey

Do you ever care about something,
so much that a pressure builds up
hot and sweating, red and painful,
around that one thing and magnifies it-
so that any ebb and flow of energy surrounding that thing,
cut and bloody, wet and heady,
well you know, it
either gets you
stimulant-virgin high or
paints all your reds black,
over and over and over
until suddenly,
burst and bleeding, crushed and steaming,
you kind of turn grey from it all
like living TV static and you think
grey is a kind of comfort, a nothing,
a quiet,
you mouth the words but
don’t say them in the heavy grey-
lack of color, without a name-
that’s better, isn’t it?