Transmute these blues into something beautiful
the synesthesia of sadness
the sadness starts off blue (sadnesses often do) and tastes like blueberry pie on a rainy day
the sadness
starts off blue
(sadnesses often do)
and tastes like
blueberry pie
on a rainy day
especially after
cancelling plans you were
anticipating all week —
you didn’t feel like going —
and now your friends are saltier
than instant ramen, which,
like the thought of you,
is better than nothing
plans look so pretty from afar,
pale and glimmering
orange horizons laced
with burgundy
and Blue’s Clues —
subtle hints of
oncoming gloom
the sadness
is a cruel winter wind
making a surprise cameo
(in the spring)
surreptitious and slick,
rustling and slithering
through the grass
of an empty field
you’re lying in the middle,
transfixed by the sky,
hoping answers fall on you
like raindrops
or snowflakes
the sadness
sounds down-tempo,
chill-step,
and cloudy —
something you’d find
on a Lo-Fi beat playlist
and skip
it sounds all too familiar
derivative of something
you hoped to never hear again
and yet here it is
(and this time, it’s a DJ Khaled remix)
the sadness
is a gut-punch,
a melting cherry sundae
making you think,
misery has never
tasted this sweet
but in reality,
you’re in a tub,
the sadness seeping
out your pores
the tap is running —
hopefully fast enough
to replace the pigment
before it stains you
(like a tattoo)
because everyone will
know how steeped you are
in it
you’ll appear bluer
than all three members
of the Blue Man Group
but the only one who will
care to stick around and
watch you do the weird shit
blue people do
is you…
…and me, maybe, at one point
back when I still cared about you
remember when you said
you adored my curiosity,
how I was willing to listen deeply
because I wanted to
see what you see,
my dear synesthete
you called it pure empathy
bordering on telepathy
you said I was rare like
the truest shade of indigo
(Oliver Sacks once wrote about)
you showed me once
how your brokenness tasted;
it made my heart re-enact the
climax of Titanic
(no cap)
I breathed the air
you drowned in,
sinking deeper
into your world of
sensory crossover
the empathy between us was like
a bicycle built for two
and now I perceive every
feeling as a sensory collision
(just like you)
who else can read your heart
like a graphic novel printed
on the sleeve of your skin?
even your veins hint blue
(as veins do)
but your blood bleeds
crimson (on exit)
just like everyone else’s
now cue the feelings
of purple and foolish for
ever thinking you were
special or different since
you can witness music while
everyone else just listens?
what good has it done
to know so intimately the
scarlet redness of number 7?
how the song “Crew Love”
(by Drake and the Weeknd)
tastes like Red Bull mixed
with muted rainbows
and carbonated percussion?
none of this has ever lessened
the symphonies of suffering,
nor your psychological projections
(in 8K resolution)
everyone calls it sadness
as if it doesn’t manifest
in so many forms—
notes, flavours, hues
before transmuting into something new
the sadness
gradually becomes
comforting
like falling into a bed of
freshly washed sheets,
lavender-scented
you might as well greet it
with the familiarity of
an old friend
nowadays,
it shows up more often
than any of them
I dare you to transmute
these blues into
something beautiful
so everyone will see what sadness looks like
(to you)
I see sadness often too
(but, for me, it isn’t blue)
the sadness looks a lot like you
(my sadnesses often do)
