Blinders

Never one to walk the straight and narrow,
I’m slipping time and meandering paths.
Though, I’m consistently equidistant
from my demons and my dreams.

My eves and morns a blur
between muted shades,
pallid palettes in tear-drunk days
and matte black nondescript nights.

There’s a curve up ahead,
but it’s always up the way a piece
. For in the now it’s merely pixilated motes
and dust driven dawns of another day.