Colors III

Every Tuesday I cut myself.

Mostly because red has such a sweet hue
So very substantial and touchable
Unlike the bitterness of blue and white
Or other such colors of this clear sky

Every Wednesday I dream.

Frequently of which includes my crimson
But now and then maroon crosses this mind
Followed closely by its own perfect pink
That covers my tongue and makes it shimmer

Every Thursday I smile.

And so stark yellow enters my system
Surprising in such a delightful way
Much like the sun coated with vivid orange
Which can be more delicious than scarlet

Every Friday I speak.

Letting dull green flow from my unused lips
So easily but utterly useless
For rubies shine brighter than emeralds
And the avarice within me smolders

Every Saturday I wake.

For rising is the color of amber
And unappreciated brown with red
And I find that is it satisfying
To my burning eyes filled with desire

Every Sunday I pray.

Because that is what is done on Sundays
And because grey is more easily seen
Through stained glass and the rain clouds behind it
And I pretend that I can see purple

Every Monday I weep.

And I see the unwanted blue and white
Bruising my finger tips with the contact
It’s upsetting to witness the pure act
Such depressing colors of the spectrum

And so on Tuesday I cut myself.

So see that beautiful red…