The colourboy

And the colourboy was broken. The heaviest of life's storms disfigured the horizon. Black loomed in the distance, the air thick with distaste. And up the hill he did stride holding hands with a friend whose name was that of the greatest flower. And beyond the tops of the trees he attempted practice with tuition, and suffered a change. Timeless he bonded visions, graceless truths of tears clutched at the mirage in his room. Pixelated sights danced to euphoric sounds. Dirty at Christmas the colourboy calmed and left for home but just before he did sultry wonder what miracle would tempt him from his devil. The colourboy watched grey sharpen its shade and the bruise of this tone absorbed him as he passed.