Colored Glasses

I see the world with
   rose colored glasses with
 fine
    little
 jagged
     lines
   across
 the view
and rose colored liquid
   slowly
   dripping
  down
   from where they,
the rose colored glasses,
  were carefully put
 back into place
 after
   being
                    knocked
 askew,
I suppose, by some
                             jarring force
  that remains unprocessed.
My chest is still tight,
   my breathing stacata,
   my heart the rolling kettle drum
  as
  the
world is
   bull-red
 through my rose colored glasses.