The Grey.

Her skin was cold and grey.
Her face was old, but had this glow
mostly reserved for candelabras
in the winter.

She reached into her head
through a hole where her eardrum should be,
pulled out something transparent
and held it out to me.

She sang:
"The only good idea I ever had
is sitting now in my hands;
the years have made it no use to me.
and in this cold twilight of mine
I'm offering it now for free."

I did as she bade and opened my hand.
It was warm and lucid, but somehow
not malleable for all its
pinkish gold.

Hesitating at first ('cause it was kinda weird),
I raised it up to my face
and shuddered as I inhaled deep
from the strangest musty smell and taste.

She sang:
"The only good idea I ever had
is sitting now in your head;
may the years find it a use for you.
Now I fear this twilight of mine
may well be through.
Goodbye..."