Holding only white and black paints.
Never wanting to choose either or,
Mixing the two to fuse gray.
Safe.
Extremely Safe,
Yet extremely tormented gray.
Unequivocal darkness cannot hide from the showing light of day.
Impossible.
But the magical canvas of my mind make miracles appear normal.
Unnatural gray.
Everyone is happy with my makeshift compromise
As I grow old inside with torment.
Fear.
Pain.
Stretched hither and there to please.
Feeling the walls of my prison for dangling keys
In a dark cell of right and wrong.
Making wrong seem right with relativity laws.
I pause.
Contrast is a fork in the middle of two one-way streets.
I meet compromise with surprise,
And I am constipated with microcosmic moments.
Tiny snap shots of white mixed with black.
Pixel-infested canvas of sometimes this and sometimes that.
If I choose, I am defined.
They will find out that I have always lied.
My mixed intelligence will have to choose,
The fork will force me to win or lose.