purple

purple is the rain at dawn after a long day,

it’s the quiet but overwhelmingly present piano notes echoing through the room, 

spontaneous accidentals, 

the indifference, the odd

purple is ancient royalty, 

it’s the blooming flowers on a sunday morning in the field of nothingness, 

the subtle eye contact, 

a mac demarco song,

it’s the scars on the perfect porcelain paper skin,

the innocent touch - manipulative,

purple are the fresh haircuts and the blurry smiles,

the box rusted - trophies of memories won

purple is not love,

it is the fresh heartbreak, 

a heartbreak you don’t mind,

purple is the sound of the invisible clock, 

the kind that doesn’t exist,

but it is a part of you,

tick tick tick,

purple is not a person, 

it is not an idea,

it is not real, 

it’s a feeling, 

unquestionable, unavoidable, 

it drowns you slowly,

yet you lie there hopelessly, 

you don’t try to swim,

perish in nothingness.