Too much of a stream of consciousness to be elegant; this was meant to capture exactly the opposite of contrast.
Tepid stare saunters dully, steadily,
Sinking, carefree, into the grey matter
Where troubles blur to a thick amalgam,
Hard to swallow but it quenches a needless thirst.
Paranoia subsides, fear never destroyed
But perceived as boredom and reluctance.
The dim shadowed glow of
A fading, creeping, growing, receding
Wrapped around with undyed cotton
Casts a murky moonlight sheen over the matte
Of the notebook lying open on the carpet.
We see undefined hollows of anxiety,
The softly cutting edges of her cheek
And the smoothly lacking contrast
As blades of grass and daisy chains
Draw stains around her wrist.
The sun whispers to her unblemished world,
And clouds drain the colour from her skin.
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