It feels like a storm,
Loud, gloomy, and yet so calm.
As hauntingly dark as nightfall,
Yet still light like a rain cloud.
It smells like an art studio,
Pencil lead and paint,
Surrounding you and pulling you in,
Like ash left over from a fire,
Blanketing over the ground,
Like a soot filled sandbox.
It sounds like a broken bell,
The faded clang over cracked metal,
Broken and whole hitting against one another,
Almost as loud as a doorknob hitting the wall.
Grey is like a storm,
Surrounding you in loud,
Yet still subtle, cloud-like darkness.
As soft as ash,
Falling over you in a calming dark.
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