Zebra This Fading

Distinction sometimes falls to disadvantage. Focus seems foreign, strained, a pain seeding at the edges of conscious thought. It becomes too much, drains itself. Soft, the bold emblazoning stripes blur, amalgamate, consume each other and the eye of the beholder they anchor. Nothing divides in this bastardized distraction.

Colors streak, lines falter, opposite bolds boil into an easy shade of seeping gray.