I Wear the Sunrise

My world is a portrait so petty and quaint,
like a dreamscape reduced to a husk.
My dull, scenic sunsets, so trite and serene,
veil the diamonds foretold by the dusk.
 

My days reek of nightfall- I'm terribly sick
of horizons with more gray than gold.
'Your palette's more suited for paintings of moonlight,'
and paint is just bought to be sold.
 

And I, but a slave to my scheme- While I drown
in a twilight zirconia sea,
a brush is my key to the shackles of nightshade,
my lifeline amidst the debris.
 

Hear me, if just for a moment- I've failed,
I'm not blind to disparaging stares.
I beg you, look once at the bloodstains I used
just so I could have crimson to share.
 

It's for my own good though- I just want to dye
every skyline to have the right tone.
I always draw morning in grayscale depiction
since those are the shades that I own.
 

This shadowlight dissonance buries the sun-
now eclipsed like a starless duet.
Because I'm the midnight of indigo-black,
I wear sunrise to help me forget.
 

Downpour
The Monster