The Gray Area

I lay with my eyes closed. I drift into dreams drenched with purples and reds. I feel a blanket wrap over my skin coated in viscous hues, I fall into their light. Red dances between my hips, marrying my yellow ribs to my soft orange core, a warm bath fills my stomach. I lay my cold hands over my chest, they fold around the green gate that guards my heart, a mossy path leads to the blue river that coils up in my throat. I reach into my left pocket, a golden key rests gently in my hand. The song of a cardinal calls my attention back to the green gate, encouraging me to let the river rage freely through me. My mind flashes violet then black, I wake up surrounded by gray.

I lay with my eyes closed. I try to fall back asleep but my stomach aches, I feel a fire burning in me. The flames grow, charring the petals in my garden, all I've tended to turns to ash. Every petal on every flower, every leaf, every tree is incinerated within me. I bend over the pain in my stomach to reach for a handful of the ash piled below my feet, each grain falls slowly between my fingers. As the ash runs low, black soot remains embedded in each crease in my palm. I try rubbing away the debris, only to reveal the deep etchings cosmically carved in my skin. A cross in the middle of my palm stands boldly between the lines of my heart and head, blessings from Jupiter sit at the base of my index, markings of a healer cradle the edge, all divine confirmation of my path ahead.

I lay with my eyes closed. The gray ash swirls around me filling my lungs, each breath is a violent reminder of the burning. My mind flashes with color, but as I open my eyes all I see is gray.

I lay with my eyes closed.

I lay with my eyes closed.

I lay with my eyes closed.