Figure it out

The bleeding of my color

around my neck, like a cut.

Always surrounded by self-imagined negatives.

They interject a but.

The wringing of hands.

A startled tear.

Making moles and hills hyperventilate.

Another passing year.

The sweeping change that doesn’t come.

The promise that doesn’t stick.

Like a sneaky undertow.

An ending you didn’t pick.