The opposite of tender is a burning in my throat as I swallow the loaded words that I wanted to say.

At the edge of silver, black explodes into the air, a sharp juxtaposition to the glimmering beauty of silver.

The sadness of puppies tastes like salty tears sliding down your throats, a whine bubbling up in your mouth.

At the center of boredom a smell, sticky like a humid day enters our noses.

At the top of tomorrow waits a yellow bleeding into the dark night as sleepiness turns to alertness.

The swirl of loneliness sounds like the rustle of feathers from a starch white goose, left alone by his gaggle.

The enemy of green hides between a rickety bridge leading to his destruction and a rock, coated in the forest color.

The shape of the past fits inside a box covered in cobwebs, shoved to the back of the dusty cellar

The rock bottom of October never will smell like fresh snow fallen, the cold air filling our nostrils.

The antonym of pink is a deep black, engulfing the bright color whole.

The hiding place of rain shivers underneath a large rock, the sunshine looming over it menacingly.

If you turn hope on high, you’ll see golden rays sprouting from your reflection, a smile brighter than a lightbulb.

If you look underneath peace, you might hear the cooing of doves, their olive branches ripped to shreds and coated in the red substance.

When you toss sadness to the wind, it returns as a tornado, whirling you into the air without a moment's notice

If you jump into the present, you’ll land on shady beaches, the sandy squishing beneath your toes.

When you tiptoe through the Valley of Happiness, you might find sadness lurking, hoping at any moment to pounce and steal you away.