Yellow.

Imagine, dancing on a yellow cloud, over rainbow of yellow symphony. Vibrant, breathtaking. Rainbow for God's promise to me that the indigo rain has moved on, over now. Cool breeze blowing over and around me, lifts me higher into the sky. With my eyes wide I turn to face giant yellow-gold ball of light and gently close them. The yellow-gold shines through, sunlight in my eyes. When the wind returns me to earth, it lands me in a meadow full of yellow flowers. And a yellow-gold piano sits on a bed of petunias, beckoning, playing softly, magically, mesmerizing, calling. My contemporary dance on wild flowers. Grand finale of shooting stars.

Indigo.

Dark, comatose smile wrapping around forever, inert even in the chaos that ensues life, Indigo. Lifeless, like the brown-blue bruises trailing down the center of my back, the contusions are elabote, lies wrapped cautiously around the truth. Not moving, like the scarlet lettering winding around my body, clothed in scarlet covering redder than vermillion. Red to maintain my sanity, red of blood atonement and sacrifice, passion and anger.

Azure-gray skies suck the life from the depth of me. Asphyxiated as in brown paper bag covering, bones knocking into one another, relentlessly. I can't hear my heart beat in the land where I'm living. My insides are tattered and my bones ache as they knock into one another. Shattered is my spirit, all of me heaped in one pile in the corner of a room... idle.

Stripped of feeling, complacency has left its mark. Indigo is the word I used to explain the state of being I am in. Wrapped in indigo head covering, scarlet red, redder than vermillion body covering and a brown paper bag, blending in with the world that shares my destiny. Under indigo-red skies, a silk moon materializes, moisturizing my skin, softening roughness, the result of cherished complacency. And if only for a little while, it is well with my soul.