Sometimes I am blue.
An ocean; endless and heavy.
But then a wave washes me back to shore
and I become yellow.
Sunny and warm; sand under my feet.
Until I step on a rock. And then I see red.
Angry, slashing, shades of red.
Like a bruise, I eventually heal
in colours of magenta, purple, orange.
And always, in the end, the grass grows green and long,
covering the rock and the sand and the ocean.
True colours ever changing the landscape of my brain.
Except for the black.
The black is always there.
Threatening to peek through.
By Sarah 