In lone night of drastic humid, it prodded
the remainder of what’s yet to disappear,
remembering the departed; the unclear.
It was forlorn but somehow delighted.
The obnoxious festivity, I despised it more,
Of why is this vibrant hue ruining the dim
And making the insides of mine obscure.
Then I no longer feel despair on a whim
When it should be of misery, of dole
This spry of a color, keep thee sober.
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