Fragments

Oh, the fragments of this beautifully shattered imagination.
The shards of my self-consciousness dissolving in the sea of uncertainty.
Nothing is clear, nothing is real.
All is lost.
Melancholy becomes the beautiful color that  blacks out 
the grey dimness of false and 
hypocritical happiness,
For to smile unjustly is to deceive the heart within.
But heart is the one instrument of pain I do not possess�
The one thing I cannot hold in my hand without staining them with my color,
For the heart is grey,
And I like my colorful melancholy.