I loved how the bruises looked in the morning
it was like having my own personal sunset;
body parts being blessed with blue and purple fading
that I sometimes pressed on.
No particular reason behind this.
However, whenever I see the colors associated with bruises,
I feel that same sharp ache,
as if I am pressing on one of my lavender blemishes even though I’m not.
I do this for other colors as well.
Red brings forth the intense taste of candied cherry.
Brown makes me feel the coldness of mud,
or the hot dry dustiness of sand,
depending on the richness of the brown.
Pink is always the color of girlhood,
sidewalk chalk hopscotch.
Green feels fuzzy to me,
the frog slippers my adult feet can no longer fit into.
The white is all softness,
forever the luscious spasm
from a pillow mounted just right.
Chromatic rainbow of my days,
with a million and one ways to blind me,
a million and one ways to break my heart;
prismatic bust up.
But like the bruises of this dawn,
I will flatten you
till your worthy of my fervor.
Created: Feb 25, 2011theInanimateTragedy Document Media