He thinks it best to wear black
Since all the blue shirts littered the laundry bin
But to his dismay,
The closet’s darkest isn’t even gray
So he picks orange
And the color is fire in the eyes
He seems to exude its loudness
Yet the brilliance artfully belies
His true self—
Handcuffed by hopelessness
Imprisoned within walls of uncertainty
Locked behind bars of loneliness
Languishing in cruel conditions
Of lost love and brightness.
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