Crimson Mind

he finds himself wishing he were inside an indigo cavern in a dense rain forest, wearing violet sunglasses at 2 a.m., just forgetting anything and everything but for the throbbing inside his chest, the crooning inside his drowsy head, in his own crimson mind; he cannot quite conjure up his own setting for his own point of view; cannot quite find his own metaphors for his own recurrent, nagging needs; a dark-blue fog swirls slow, dimming the sun, not the glow of her absence, in his own crimson mind.