The wisdom of cats

An older poem of mine that I wrote while I was still in foster care.

Secrets could be the reason for my insanity, Such bloody burdens deserving of such profanity,

Old movies that don't work Worth no more than tenth of a cent

In my opinion, it is better to see color than to ignore it. This poem is a brief thought on that idea.

What do you do when imagination starts to die? Is the world truly so dark as a dead fairy’s eyes?