Red

Red is the color of the wine

I drink to forget my sorrows.

Realizing in the morning

There aren’t better tomorrows.

Monthly I will always bleed,

with a ferocious, furious fate.

The clock is loudly ticking.

For now, I am twenty-eight.

The blood, it is crimson red

Down below and up on top

From injuries on my face

Blemishes that wouldn’t pop.

I scratch and dig at the skin

Desperate for an answer.

Now my fingernails are red.

This color is a cancer.

I’m enraged, burning hot.

My anger, it is red.

I could fight a war with it,

But I simply stay in bed.

And then I look at you

Smiling from ear to ear

And ask your favorite color,

But Is that “red” I hear?

Of course your favorite color’s red.

You cannot feel my pain.

But is that blue behind your eyes?

I squint, lean in, and strain.

Your eyes, they open wide,

An ocean, so, so deep

Blue and ever changing

With secrets that you keep.

Perhaps I’m not alone in this,

This journey I’m going through.

Perhaps my red could benefit

From a little bit of blue.