Unhung branches they cover my trees
i’m imaginary
it’s written on some of my tees
unhung branches they cover my sleeves
they’re imaginary
It’s stained on some of my glees
unhung branches they cover my breeze
it’s imaginary
it’s sticky and unwashed like grease
its sweat has me tainted
i’m being drained from it all
i’m turning into a puddle of my own dark grey pool
my end is near
and only a colour blind artist can make use of me
make good use of me
for I am who I am from within
I am dead.
-nn
