He would smoke until he'd green out, and he would drink until he'd black out. Wherever he went, a palate of sorrow followed his tracks, ever ready to assault him with the rainbow.
The darling shades of his youth grew muted as pleasures became evermore bittersweet, as he learned by encounter of human deceit and self-interest,
as his parents fell rungs from the perfect god-people he perceived them to be and instead became merely human. The world was no longer separable by black and white.
Confused, photosensitive, he would wander, head pounding, under changing sky. Waiting for darkness, when all the clashing colours were dimmed and the air was cleared.
While everyone complained over rain and shine, he was never mad at the moon.
He had learned over time that bright colours burnt. That behind the most beautiful blues, there lurked a vicious cold. Harmonious green concealed envy.
The prisms in his eyes could see only colour; it was the role of his poor mind to dissect the images and discern their meaning in retrospect.
He missed a simple life long gone, when the sky was always blue. So he would blur the rainbow with drink until blackness came.
Nobody knew of his plight; he avoided brushstrokes in silence. He flaunted hues like a peacock when in reality he was a chameleon, reflecting as a defense the shades that surrounded him.
He was surrounded by the rainbow, and lived under it. But inside was gray, always gray.