Dying Fields

I am sunburned
See the heat rising from my skin
Do not handle me with kid gloves
Let me scream while you hold me

I am colorblind
Black and white
Sepia and grey
A spectrum of peculiar light
On a background of paper and graphite

I am trapped
In this process
In this inevitable
Unbalanced
Shifting and twisting
Mirror
Such danger
Such delights

This path is not exceptional
This place is unyielding
And in these dying fields
I am little more
Than the movement of the grass