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thinking
as i walk through my head
id do anything to relocate
or just end it.
not be there at all.
but the small bursts of colour
in a garden full of weeds
keep me walking towards the gate
the gate i am yet to see
the path beneath me,
bleak, cracked, depressing.
yet there are winks of colour
blue, orange, green
they are always there
whether burght or dull, always in sight
as i trip over the painful, sharp
weeds of my life
the colours catch me
sometimes i fall further
some times i catch myself
but i know, they will lead me to that gate.
