Walking through streams of velvet,
I'm an ambiance of gray.
Wrapped in rays of violet,
The dog gnaws on yesterday.

Discontent and lackluster
Befriends the lady in red.
But red is just a color
As good as black for the dead.

In alleys of scattered lies
Who needs purpose or design?
Wooed by the flickering flies,
The dog sees the neon sign.

Subconscious underpinnings
Cast down limelight on the frail.
"Taste the death of my choosing!"
Cry the mice with worms to sell.

Broken in its nightly flight,
The clock consoles me to see.
For 3am holds the light
Though the view is not the key.