Cobalt.

It’s cobalt black.

Is that a real thing?

Like this rope swing.
I feel if it had a name, it wouldn’t be darkness, it would be cobalt.

I can remember very few things.

Like cats, and dogs and diamond rings.
It seems to me it’s been this way for a long, long time. Not a lifetime, just a life rhyme.

In this cobalt, I am not alone.

There sits a greedy king, on his greedy throne.
He doesn’t say anything, and he looks half dead, with his crooked smile and tilted head.

And the man with the scars

And tiny train cars.
With the smile like the moon, and it comes too soon

With a crunch and a splat