Competing Colors

Anxiety is seeing crimson everywhere you look:

                    Like the First Red Scare,
                   it’s living in constant fear
                   of communism or anarchy--
                   too much control or not enough of it.


                   It’s all the tension of a Cold War--

                   using up available resources,

                   preparing for bloodshed
                   that may never come.


Depression is see-through, transparent, and clear:


                   Glassy like a dirty window,

                   stained from years
                   of desperate fingerprints--

                   trying to get out and play.


                   It’s ice melting into a puddle--

                   colorless, but palpable,
                   Void of hue or pigment.
                   No light for a reflection to transmit.


If I was given the choice,
I’d pick the crimson fear every time--

the cherry cheeks and brick-red voices,

merlot meals and scarlet poisons.


I’d choose bloody paranoia
over diluted waters,
the loudness of a red fire hydrant

drowning out the apathy.


Because the only thing worse than a mono-color life,

is living with no color at all.


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