let lemons be angry

It's raining, I'm choosing not to go to astrid's class, and I hate grey feelings.

Grey feelings are the ones that gnaw, that cling, that slowly expand like balloons in your lungs about to burst. If it was Black a good cry would get rid of it. But there's that White tint that makes me want the feeling to stay around, as if by diffusion white can swallow black, detergent eating grime.

I should stop, pretentious literature disgusts you. But I'm not pretending. This is how I've been feeling all this time, and to stop myself from exploding into bits I poke leakholes. When it's all trickled out maybe I'll feel better at last.

Grey has been the colour of my life, hiding in stairways, reading into things, not reading into things, not being jealous, being special, being neglected, a little ghost waiting to be materialized. But I'm tired of grey and its secrets. I want to shout in my small voice, get out, get out, change, be white or black. So this post. The most halfhearted attempt to dissolve grey, but at least it's a start.