Colored days of old

colored days

Rainbow haze,

Where can I find you between the two criss-crossed mountains

The rumbling, violent stream below,

Tumbles rocks of varying sizes,

One might hit my head, bleeding,

I might die,

But it’s worth it.

I have trekked through

Mulch and thick, tall foliage

That burn me, scratch me

Pin me down

And even throw me like a rag doll

“That’s nature, my friend,”

I scratch my head, getting out knots in my brain,

Still smoothing out the fact you hate my hair brushed, it looks bad that way, but the knots grew despite the brush being next to me

But having a good friend in reach

Is better

Than a hay covered, multi-colored day,

But I had all my

Color

Drained

And I’m feeling

Burnt, frozen,

Where are those colored days of old?

Colored like lemon blossoms, that turn into calming balm,

I am the worst in the world for hurting

For hurting reminds you of

Something

That’s the opposite of calm,

“Shut up.”