Red, purple, and green

Sometimes I feel red. The kind that burns in my cheeks and claws at my throat

Red normally turns to purple. Purple washes over me and threatens to pull me down under it

After a while I might feel green. Neutral and emotionless with a harsh sour undertone

The next day, I feel orange. Red, purple, and green are forgotten

In their place are an offering of sugary clementines

I don’t notice that they have started to turn green underneath

And they will bring the rest of the day with them

When I get away, I feel red. The kind that glows on your cheeks and fills up your heart

Red can turn into purple. Fresh lavender in a meadow, or a grape bursting on your tongue

If I feel green, that’s okay. It is neutral but fresh, clean, and sweet

When I wake up feeling orange, there are no fruit flies, only sun rays and peach flavoured skies