unemotional

your lack of colour scares me

because you can become anything you eat

drops of water without a zest

white feathers shed by unknown birds

same as indiscrimination in the choice of friends

squealer at work

is tantamount to lack of support

and having them all

knocking at my door

apart from that, you are good

your colourless feathers

will never dive deeper than a damp drum

at the bottom of the tasteless ocean

without your heart involved

as you happen to not own one

picking out my weaknesses

to turn them into miasmatical mud

merely resembling a saint

overlooked on every side

here’s what I’ve become

a miserable machine to watch at night

instead of a telly

flashing, emitting, drilling

never healing

as you should but somehow

your awareness turned into total neglect