Black Hearts Aren't So Bad
The darker shades of colour
Red hearts we are born with,
Until life stains our skin.
Dunked deep into madness,
And the colours seep in.
Some come out glittering,
Rose-tinted, pure gold.
Other’s return bluer,
Ocean deep, slightly cold.
But those aren’t the colours,
Tattooed on my soul.
I’m not drawn to these wavelengths,
Like I am to charcoal.
There are those in the shadows,
Dark hearts, out of sight.
Untouched by the spectrum,
Dispersed by the light.
Yet into the blackness,
I would happily fall.
Black hearts, it would seem,
Aren’t so bad after all.
About the author
Emily Wilcox
I am a writer. I imagine in a parallel universe I might be a caricaturist or a botanist or somewhere asleep on the moon. But here I am a writer, armed with an astrophysics degree, a Paperchase pen and a half empty box of biscuits
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