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Nova May 25
Monday’s are pink
Tuesday’s are red
Wednesday’s are blue
Thursday’s are orange.

Friday’s are green
Saturday’s white
Sunday’s are blue
It’s strange, right?
I have many types of synesthesia, and this is just a poem about one type.
Lynnia May 22
Wretched voice
Boxed so thin
Rubbed-raw noise
Sandpaper skin
Beaten crest
Lasts for years
Naked nest
November tears
The season’s stall
Before the laughs
The worst of all
The **** path
A sun burned green
I waste away
While they all wait
For bright Friday.
“It’s a metaphor, Brian”
(I promise this actually makes sense to me at least)
(Extra double super hot chocolate brownie points to anyone who understands the quote reference)
Kai May 8
Her name tastes sweet like blue
She looks like crashing waves sound
She crys like the ocean screams
Her happiness is feels like fresh rain
A prompt I saw was to write your favorite colour using senses and that made me think of Synesthesia.
bob Feb 27
Purple is your voice,
Soft as running fingers through groves of lavender—
Gentle on my ears.
Pink is your favourite,
Ironic with your wardrobe being a black hole
As you've called your beautiful mind.
Though it shows,
Your soft giggles
And the heartwarming way you talk to yourself
As you write.
White is our curious relationship,
Occasional exchange of calls online
And open to more.
Like the canvas you paint on.

I'd like to be close.
As my mind is too,
A black hole.
I hope you find curiousity there
As I do find in yours—
Because darkness is an unusual thing
Which pushes people away,
Yet draws them in.
Black are the shadows which follow us,
Darkest in the day,
And hidden in the night.

Yet there lies solace
In the lavender fields.
ha ha, great pun I know.
Hanafuda Feb 23
I can't remember the first night
after our break-up.
I don't know if I slept peacefully
Or if I had nightmares
Or if I slept at all.

But I can't forget the nights I spent
Next to you,
In the warmth of our embrace
How the pleasant dreams
Would fill our nights
And our feelings
Would fill our hearts
That, I thought, sang the same song.

But now I know we have different colors
Which paint our destinies.
When my baby-blue mixed
With your crimson-red
They made a single dark-pink line
To be the proof of our union.
.
Sierra Blasko Jan 15
Red
Red
Red is Mondays, swirling in a poisoned cloud
Like the aether
Ready to grab my hand
And throw me into the middle of the week
Before I know
What it is exactly that I have touched
And before I am ready as well

Red is apples
Macintosh melancholy
And candle wax galas
Red is an explosion
Of dark magic
Red and black, the perfect duo
Twisting and weaving in their dance
All low notes
And timpani rumbles
And middle C
And like the dueling harmonies
Red is too loud
Too bright
And at the same time
Always present
Always safe

Red is blood
In the same way my emotions are of pearl
Luminescent and shifting

If you see them
Something’s wrong
Cobalt Jan 13
The word is an agitated shade of red, that hides and lurks beneath subdued greys and darker blues. Anger sneaks up behind you, churning and festering with every word spoken until
Snap!
And everything you were concealing is done and gone and out.
It’s out in the open and yet you wish you could take it all back inside

Because the dangerous thing about anger isn’t the slamming doors or the screaming fits,
It’s the broken hinges and hoarse voices,
The words you will never be able to take back,
And the regret that fills every part of your being.
I see scarlet
When I hear the funeral trumpet
Now she is just a color

I hear Scarlet's cries
The love of my life
Murdered in cold blood
She was my wife

I have synesthesia
I see the blood
Imagining color is easier
For me

The blood has turned cold
But the color is warm
I feel blue when I think of her
And feel much warmer
Synesthesia is a perceptual phenomenon of simultaneous sensory stimulation.
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