“i set out to find a rhyme for orange
but all I could think of was door hinge
unless you’ve heard of the mountains of blorange
in which case you’re a fool”

and for a brief moment
i could see, for the first time, with my own eyes
the brilliance of that most worn and beaten
orange notebook
it sat there, on the floor
and i could feel its pain
all the years of torment
expressed openly upon the pages within
the anguish of grief
the sadness of loss
the fear and hatred of death
i could feel all of the emotions that had been bottled up inside
and it was simply overwhelming
all of that emotion
locked away inside
held slovenly together
by a single, thin, rusting wire
and encased by a brilliant, tattered, and fading orange cover
i suppose it is only proper
that the cover of that notebook be
orange
one of the few words in the english language
that simply doesn’t rhyme