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  • lisa

blue like november

It’s November and the way the night comes so quickly, light setting so early, depresses me. It doesn’t make me depressed necessarily, just this weird, calm and chaotic feeling of melancholia. November holds itself to be an enigma, a mystery of the consciousness; each step is a little heavier, each morning it’s harder to get out of bed, each night you consume more cups of tea to quench this anxiety. If November was a colour, it would be blue.


I am blue like the waves that push against the shore

The blue, dirty brown blue of Lake Erie

The murky water ebbs and flows

the waves release

let go


let go

I am blue like the night sky, a deep blue

A haunting reminder of the vastness of space, the infinite memory that holds us

I am blue like the rain that fell against the sunroom that one late summer afternoon

Clear and transparent, yet blue nonetheless

And I am blue like the ink that covers my hands

The ink that takes much time to wash off, draining down the kitchen sink

Draining like the battle cry of endlessly writing for hours with nothing to show

I am blue like the walls that contain me

These walls hold me in

Its paint dried in clumps, in long lines of dripping pale blue

Whoever painted these walls was tired, brush stokes lazy

Like reading a book in the dead of night lazy

I am blue like jazz

The symphony of melancholic sound

The rising and falling of notes

Blue, so blue like the sirens that scream in the night

Waking you from your slumber

Blue like a never-ending story

I am so blue

Image By Lisa & Hikari

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