Printer

The ink’s running out in the printer.

It’s blurring the lines, fading the shadows. It’s all printing out wrong; the reds are all fading the grey. The colours make me sick to look at. Running from the page; Too weak to hold their shade. Too weak, just too weak. Their not who they used to be, these shades. They used to come brilliant, defined in their flamboyance. Not merging together until their barely themselves.

It eats paper, ravenous mechanical beast, but it can’t get it right, it tries and tries again but every picture is imperfect. Tainted, it can’t acknowledge it’s failure as the ink run’s to dry across the white. Another attempt, another shattered ideal of the perfection it once produced. The more effort it takes. the more the colours fade. They are fading to grey. Into the backdrop, almost white, almost white. We’re fading to grey.

We were technicolor. Acid bright to burn your eyes. You had to look away. Sharp lines, we were defined, we were different. Standing out from paper, almost alive. The shades would fade for only an instant and you’d top up the ink again. We’d glow forever, in peacock shades, your hands on my skin and we’d make the world jealous. They were black and grey we were scarlet, we were magenta. We filled in the gaps and chased off the shadows

The Ink started to fade. We were running out of time. You would sink back into the paper. Peeling away your colours until you were flecked with white, with grey. I was losing you. You didn’t try, you didn’t replace the ink, and I didn’t know how . I didn’t know how to give you colour again and all I had was electric blue washing through my fingers.

It wasn’t just you, the whole world was turning grey, you faded and the world followed. I tried, but everything blurred and I couldn’t find you amongst the lines and faults. I couldn’t fin you, you blurred out without colour. I stood there in reams of hue and realised that you’d gone to the rest of the world. We didn't have any colours left to shine for. I didn’t have you with your violet lines anymore. You weren’t there to define me.

I let myself blur, it was all fading the white anyway. White and nothingness, Just Like that. I can’t remember what the colours look like because their not the same. Their not bright, their pastels. Sick torrid reams of greyish impostors, all mangled together by the print rollers. Nothing’s an image anymore. It’s just shape, meaningless shape with nothing to show for it. All fading to white at the edges. We were fading, we faded to white. You faded to white without me but we’ll all just cancel out in the end. The Ink ran out after all. This is the end.