Red

If I don’t think like you, I don’t act like you, I don’t speak like you.

If not in this life, then maybe another.

If I don’t look like you, I don’t smell like you, I don’t like what you do.

But cut me open, and I’ll bleed the same color.

If I’m paralised in rage, nothing can ever change, like an animal trapped in its cage.

Open my eyes, and all I see is one thing.

I’ve been acting unusual, the feeling’s not mutual, late to my own funeral.

What flows out of my severed wing..is blood red.

Everything is red.

Mix some lies in the truth, like Xanax with Everclear.

When I speak of the devil, it’s like he’s just never here.

I spent one week in hell, but felt like it was one year.

I raise no more chaos than I can bear.

Maybe you don’t walk like me, or you don’t talk like me, you’re not so strong like me.

Alas, I’ve known more secrets than I can share.

Every color of the rainbow, makes faster by the days go, one too many cracks in my halo.

The crimson pools apart from me.

If it doesn’t come from my mouth, it doesn’t come out my skin, it can not come from my life,

if I nick the wrong artery.

All I see is red, the walls are painted red.

The poison apple’s red, and all I feel is red.

I wake up surprised I haven’t popped my morning lid, as love seems like a drug, and

I took way more than forty hits.

In a watery grave, maybe you’ll float too, kind of like how Georgie did.

Although, I can never die.

Dry veins still run through red, off with my head, how the hell am I not dead?

I shouldn’t be alive.

My heart is black and blue in darker shades, of what I had to do with sharper blades,

I played my cards, no Queen of spades.

All my scars still look red, everything is red.