We swam in wombs, with painted hands,
spreading the Red across throbbing walls.
the floor, Blue,
and the mess between, we made Orange.
Parents swam beside us, younger, dumber, but smiling.
In the vibrant sea, the some of us danced clumsily,
tripping the kaleidoscope fluid.
As the parents moved, though, their wrinkles returned, and they asked questions.
They swam southwards, the colors were too bright for their aging eyes.
They sunk like slugs into the blue, ‘till it rotted a stocky yellow-brown.
I tried to find them, and paint over their telling marks,
but in that putrid brine, I couldn’t find a single blonde hair.

Some amount of time passed, and the south returned to its older shade.
I felt the urge to explore the ordinary depths;
I shook as I stepped into the cobalt,
but soon became too busy to be scared.
I planted my feet on solid ground,
and in slow-motion, marched my way towards an elevator.