On the surface of my palm

I hold the world in two pieces

Weighing its good in one

Weighing its bad in another

Measuring through quantitative analysis

Whether hope if not equilibrium exists

For the fires I extinguish seem to be the ones

Spreading light

The torches I light happen to be the one

Burning down trees

Good seems bad and bad is known to be good

In this deceitful world gone astray

I am a soul in between the white and black

Unable to distinguish them from gray

So God help me

For those I call friends are but snakes

And those who I try helping push me away

- your colourblind soul