Monday, 23 November 2009

• Red

  Red.
  is the color of
  his jacket,
  my lips
  when I bite into them,
  trying to hold back
  while holding on to the past
  and what he did to me.
  
  Red.
  is the color of his hair,
  my hands going through it,
  and us being through.
  The promises we made,
  and the ones he said he'd never break.
  
  Red.
  is the color of his eyes,
  his daily devotion,
  his anger burning within;
  all desires waiting to swim free.
  
  Red.
  is the color of his tongue,
  of a song waiting to be sung;
  a security belt fastened.
  
  Red.
  is the color of hunger,
  the color of satisfaction.
  The color of "I love you so much"
  and a few minutes later
  "I hate you with a passion."
  
  Red.
  means we're dead.
  
  Red.
  is the color of wanting and then stopping;
  constant contradiction.
  Red.
  the color of dead ambitions and lost addictions.
  
  Red.
  is the representation of all the people he killed.
  Red.
  is his face
  as he tried
  to keep everything in place.
  But by the time I met him,
  he had already fallen [with]
  ill [intent]
  
  So what inspiRED him to go and set himself on fire?
  Was it redemption he desiRED?
  
  Red.
  is where I lay hoping
  he lay restless without sleep each night.
  Red.
  is me putting up my hands
  declaring my fight.
  
  Red.
  is me telling him
  I still have a pulse
  and everything will be alright.
  Everything will be alright.

  • 11:37 PM
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  • 14 Comments

• Animals

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  • 7:55 PM
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  • 13 Comments