I’m a terrible feeling factory.
Every time the colors are calibrated, I
Spit the wrong ink. Ruining your otherwise
Perfect vision. You didn’t make a mistake,
Outside of maybe hiring me. I’m terrible
At conjuring, you see. If you want light
Accents, I’ll give you muddy brown
Waste. If you’re looking for passionate
Pink, I’ll muster nothing but melancholy
Blues. I find the right feelings are allusive.
Until, the factory closes down for the night
And my wheels cool to a rest. By morning,
The colors just might be right again.