Twisted fairy tales,
Happily never afters,
Myths of contentment,
We have all come to resent them–
Shades of uncertainty.

While we search for completion,
Other halves,
The “love” not within ourselves,
The one we desire from “other halves”,
We fail to see the complexity of our inner worlds,
Splattered in shades of indigo.

Darkened shades of bleeding hearts,
Hearts that no longer bleed red–they bleed the most intense shades of indigo.

For the ones who only feel blue now,
For the ones who only feel in complex shades of blue,
It is the sole representation of everything battered,bruised and abused.
Egos,
Hearts,
Minds,
Souls,
All part of the complex beauty,
The complex yet beautiful shades of indigo.
It is a shade, yet it is not a shade. It is instead a representation of life– of feelings darker than we know what to do with–yet subtle enough to repress.

The passive heart dreams in indigo,
Lives– exists in it’s shades,
A natural state of complexity– even though just a shade.

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