Pale yellow like her hair,
it feels as though she has always been there.
Shrinking slowly underneath her skin,
don’t let it out; never let them in.
I once called her “mellow yellow,” and we laughed for hours.
She said that I’m a funny fellow whose embrace empowers.
“My cup runneth over,” she said in relation to us.
Over her, my stunning one, I’d forever make a fuss.
I ask why we all suffer she smiles knowingly and answers so simply, “Because we must.”
“Without the intensity of life’s ups and downs, where would be our lust?”
Pale yellow honeysuckles sunning in the garden,
smell so floral and rich that I stop to beg their pardon.
They too remind me of my sacred bond with that girl I love from so long ago,
Now I spend my days wondering why I ever let her go…
We drank pale yellow lemonade together which my grandmother made,
Under star-speckled skies, once the sun began to fade.
We once spent the night in a yellow Volkswagen Bug,
and though it was uncomfortable, I’ve never felt so snug.
When she started to get ill I never had the chance to tell her,
That inside of me I was feeling deep emotions stir.
She began to suffer from depression, but it wasn’t all that noticeable at first.
6 months later she then took a deadly turn for the worst.
She had taken up cutting and one night she cut deeper than she’d meant to.
Deep crimson stained her sheets which were once baby pastel blue.
After that incident, they locked her away,
And she’s been in and out of the hospital since that very day.
Pale yellow like the linoleum floor of the room where I went to visit her.
It’s been years now and happened so quickly that it all seems a blur.
Stale smell from closed-in asylum walls,
Bleached white corridors and endless halls.
Tears, I had never seen her cry before streamed down her face.
She said, “Look at me Johnathon, I’ve become a disgrace.”
I did my best to assure her that it wasn’t true,
and I tried building her up until my face went blue.
Every word I spoke she harshly denied,
and there’s never been a time I’ve more deeply cried inside.
I wept for my wilting flower,
It was never like her to bend or cower.
It hurt so bad to see her in such distress,
to only be able to stand by while she was in such mess.
The next words she spoke scarred me deeply.
She said, “After this visit, I never want you to see me.”
My heart crumbled up inside of itself, and I felt as though I could die.
Despite myself, I broke my strong face and I, too started to cry.
I protested, but she insisted with anguish written on her face,
then the nurses came and said, “Visits over” and I had to leave that place.
Pale yellow like the cigarette stains on my left hand,
Pale yellow like an hourglasses time sand.
I wonder where she is and if she’s alright,
and I pray to the Gods every single night,
to hold her and keep her in their sight.
I miss her and ever since I’ve never felt quite right.
Pale yellow like the bandages that covered her wrists,
Lord, I never wanted it to end like this.