Brown, brown, brown was the morning and as I turned over and faced the opposite way brown was the colour I could see there too.
Flecks of black were like wildfowl in the deep grass of doom and the great white wind was rustling the golden stalks in the neighbouring field of a new day in my mind. In my black head was what felt like a core of congealed pus grease slow pulsing with life force. What a morning head.
A doleful bluebird sang an old grey tune in the corner by the old scarecrow that was nestled like so many of my mid-morning thoughts about making my bed, brushing my teeth (with an aching tooth greatly in need of a filling) or of making a cup of tea or coffee.
Eventually, I blinked a pink blink of stars and felt the same brown fog surround my very being like a tightly fitted velvet jacket as I went about my business thinking about putting on new clothes or wearing those from yesterday whose passing was only a few green hours ago. Pink Blue Green Gold Silver.
As there was no hint of blue rush in my morning routine it extended two or three golden hours into the highest of sky blue noon. In the sky overhead the sun was trailing its majestic arc throughout the heavens but all I noticed was the grey, pink-blue-yellow swoosh of the bus pulling up outside, opening its doors then closing them in a pink-blue-yellow mini swoosh before swiftly accelerating away in a puff of yellow and black dust.
People were walking by in the street right on through this cloud of dust which they inhaled deep into their lungs where it rightly blocked arteries like so much fat or cigarette smoke tar does. Red blood brightly oxygenated still flowed out of the capillaries in these besmirched lungs but for how damn blue long? With all this yellow and black dust in the air, the end was inexorable. For sure.
Meanwhile, a girl in a navy blue coat with brown hair in a ponytail halfway down her back was skipping on the tarmacked pavement. Black-white, brown-white,-pink-white, blue. (is that boy in love with you) Green-white, purple-white, red-white, green. (When you go to London will you see the queen?)Red-blue, White-blue, green-yellow, pink (Before you go to sleep do you wash your face in your sink). It was pink exhausting watching her go backwards and forwards over the hopscotch squares and quickly I turned away back to my green interior which was tastefully decorated with golf-ball sized blue polka dots before the photoshop vignette of black surrounding my field of vision closed in any further.
My silver eyes fell upon half finished tasks aplenty (orange ,orange, orange) before I motored myself on algae green slime into my kitchenette where I prepared myself a royal blue cup of coffee with gold coloured sweeteners (two) and prepared to toast two green and yellow starred pieces of bread which I would spread with sparkly green butter from the red stripey cupboard (I know it’s there I checked).
Architectural silver (polished stainless steel to you) filled my mind/emotion convergence point which indicated a need for a cigarette. Only it’s black-purple vision would restore my equilibrium to a sanish colour/texture. But I had quit the day before. My last purple packet was lying underneath an old tin of mouldy baked beans which I had removed disgustedly from the fridge the previous day also. Fucking yellow pink. Fucking GREEN.
I placed the sparkly bread in the luminescent toaster and pressed down on the flashing neon handle.
To be continued…