My skin- as numb as the mountain breeze.
Take the color from my conscience.
And breathe.
Eyes of a muddy brown- stare into the dingy orbs
of nostalgia.
Was that to be my most distinguishable feature?
A lifeless package of unseen potential
to be something.
For when the glares are cast upon my shadow,
it is as if they were seeing me.
All of me and my gray figure with nothing but eyes-
defective eyes that refuse to tell truth from the lies.
I have no ears. Unable to hear you?
I have no ears, but I have these eyes of a muddy brown
that show me word for word your conscience.
I hear you after all.
Though you can walk past me in a fit
of superiority- I am above you.
I need no color to know my place.
With this colorless skin of torpor.
But I breathe.
Exhale myself in a wisp of air
to start new.
And with only a shadow
to follow.
 
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