From Ally McKnight:  A long, long, long, LONG, time ago, I set up a challenge based on the Matchbox 20 song, "Mad Season." I only received one entry, but it is a very beautiful piece and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I know I did. The author is Becky Thomson.

From Becky Thompson:  I downloaded 'Mad Season' off the net, and I was suddenly very moved. This is a poem based in the song It's about Gary and about myself in places as well.  It's called "Technicolour Living"

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Technicolour Living
by Becky Thomson
 

I thought
That I would be the same forever.
That I would only ever have to deal with minor changes
Environmental.

I never would have imagined that I would be so different.
That my life would not be my own.
I would live for the sake of others.
I can't seem to find time to live anymore.
No matter what advice I've been given.

I'm doing without a lot of things.
I thought someone would have noticed.
I need them now.
My friends.
Or just one of them.
Just one.
Someone to give me that boost.

I'm twisted and torn
Ravaged and ragged.
And I'm trying to live a life that belongs to a city
Not to one single person.

I wouldn't care if my life, soul, heart and being belonged to you.
As long as you paid an interest.
But you're just like everyone else.
Self absorbed and egotistical.
Why on earth should you care about me?

It gets me down;
Looking at the city that keeps me shackled.
I've never spoken though.
Because who would listen?
It's so empty and hollow.
This city
And my life.

Printed lines - black and white.
Sometimes I wish life could be as clear cut as that.
Black and white leads to technicolour occasionally.
But that's almost always for others.
I live in the grey area, mostly.

The little things I had have all gone now.
They left me.
Just like everything and everyone does.
I think I was made to be alone.

But I'm crying out now.
Isn't that what you all wanted?
To reduce me to a mess?
What did I ever do to anyone to deserve this?

I'm lost.
Trapped in the labyrinth.
And there's no way out.
I'm stuck here.
Why doesn't that surprise me?

I'm looking out for a chance to break free.
A chance to claim back some of that which I've reaped.
It's past the time to sow.
But I can only sow if they give me a chance.
If they give me a chance, I'd take it.
But I'm not expecting one any time soon.

One minute more till I burst.
Counting down.
Still waiting.
To be freed.
For them to offer me my leave.
I'm getting ready for the long haul.

So much for minor changes.
 

Email the author: phoebe_or_becks@hotmail.com
 

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