I’ve been bitten,
by a mundane shade of gray.
Where the areas of the spectrum
merge into a clouded collection;
it’s a jumble that I stumble through,
yet you still expect me to choose.
pick right now,
nor the next day.
I must calculate the damage,
I must review all things conceived,
I must carefully examine.
Don’t push me, or I’ll fall.
Don’t expect me to make the call.
One side of me is worry
The other is carefree.
Both confine me.
I don’t want either to define me.