Burgundy bells blared brittle, like bread;
savoury silk suddenly singed my silent skin.
Chocolate chimes chased charcoal chalk,
talking toasters tingled tangled trucks.
A hissing whistle wilted hitters,
tittering critters tinted cisterns.
Blisters erupted belittled erasers;
cauldrons bubbled creation's blazer.
A shock of sterile antiseptic.
Christmas tastes light blue like plastic.
Sometimes seasons sound unfamiliar,
and stranger than a static splinter.
Sirens arouse sentiments unpleasant,
sharp like spies and estranged sisters.
That's when I just grin and bear it—
colourblind is chaos in its brilliance.
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