I saw the biggest red.
It dropped me to my knees
and tested the elasticity
of my lungs with sobs.
They were unprepared
to wiggle in an inflated state
and so it caused me pain.

Yes.

My organs failed to function.
It's never my reflections that hurt.
It's not bc I'm friend-glee colorblind.
No, my sobs were biological,
an understandable response
to seeing a red that was
inexplicably big.
So

big.

It pushed out my defenses and left all the failure
out on the chef's table along with the grief.
The collection of triggers I abstractly describe as trauma
so that I never again have to think about how petty
all of my sorrows really are when weighed against
the wreck-of-the-day; which is still fresh.

There's always more adding to my malignancy.
That's the only reason why an abnormally
large color could break me so easily.
I don't have anything stuffed in the back
that needs to be hacked into and pried off.
There is nothing unresolved; I'm efficient.

I am just as efficient as every other hue-man
at hiding my disgraceful contemplations
that arise when looking around a large color.
People love to talk about color even wo language.
Every lonely sunrise reminds me of their "ah"s.
There is nothing wrong with living in repression.

All of my responses are valid.
My tears are healthy, actually.
My doubts don't impede progress-
at least not daily; well maybe,
but they certainly don't bore
into my every waking thought.

All of this. ALL OF THIS!!! All of this,
is a perfectly reasonable reaction
to a red that is so massive.
Large things have gravity.
I know random facts about science,
bosons and stuff justifies my tears.
Except it doesn't.

Color doesn't have volume.
I'm alone and sad
and I can't even
identify the source
of my own metaphor.
I can't even figure out...

I can't even