Monochrome Midas Poem by Nyx C Styx

He lives, in the WAIT
of a perpetual something to happen
till the 5 o'clock in the morning
when he submits himself to sleep

Those eyes have nothing in them
save the residue of childhood dreams
which form the cloudy cataract

He LIVES in the wait
of a perpetual something to happen
For she to happen to him
or he to happen to her
or whosoever happens to decide to happen
HE waits

Don't promise him sights and sounds
HE sees them all in their own distinction
of hues and tinctures
there is no black to him but a thousand shades of dark
there is no white to him but a thousand more of light
and each chrome plays its own symphony in his ears
the torturous screech of metal on ice, they play
they play their maddening tunes to announce their
varying tones
even behind closed eyes, they will grant him no mercy
at the riot of neon silhouettes that revel behind his lids


He lives in the wait
for SHE
who hides in shades of midnight
and knows all too well the art
of dying
all that she touches in tints of monochrome
she is his monochrome MIDAS

Give him the blackness in your veins
drip by drip and watch it bleed into him
and wash out his madness with the BLACKOUT

Place those inky fingers into his ears
and FEEL
the gentle palpitations of his heart beat
against your finger tips
and put him softly to sleep
it is the 5 o'clock in the morning