Distractions were bright red back in the days
When trees were green, and rain fell in torrents:
Crystal-grey sheets, swathes of iridescence
That coated the world with sugary sunlight.
Happy days when memories meant nothing
Because they were already forgotten or
Lost into stained carpets and dirty sheets
Where their evil had first been created.
We can pretend that dust is snow again,
That ash is more than just the dissipating
Remains of our flammable pasts
Breaking up in our mental atmosphere.
And without those dark crimson distractions
We have nothing but thin, navy ink
To keep us from tumbling head first back into
Dark thoughts that we should never think.