Gray – a theoretical color –
Lives in your strata-yellow eyes:
While I sit in your waiting room,
Eager for my demise.
Upon reflection,
I should have been meaner.
(a boss years ago gave me some advice:
“don’t let an asshole make an asshole out of you, so…)
My pacifism
Served me passively.
And merely hours later,
Four years folded into a dream –
Was it a dream?
Our every interaction?
Trapped in this
Stockholm Syndrome
Syndrome?