Mood Rung
The mood ring was rung.
I held it like purple-blue.
Red-orange.
And maybe green-gray.
In between, bothness.
Like hot bone broth, like tendons.
Sliced just wrong.
The mood ring on my finger.
I peck at it all day.
I’m peeled open.
The mood ring was rung like a soundless pine needle hitting the ground.
I’m a cycle like this mood ring.
Bipolar sounds like-
Eating a mood ring sandwich.
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