The Color of Blood

A warm sunny day is the coldest day of the year

I look at this heart in my hands and remember the day we were told

I should have said yes to the cold and sorrow as many will show us tomorrow.


It was not my fault, his eyes were brown and borrowed. 

I hid my face and pretended to not know,

the color of blood ran down his temple to his jaw as he sat staring at me.


A sunny day, golden sky, and red clouds

The color of blood came to me in repulsive unnerving thoughts

What could I do?

His mouth grew feral with a smile as he told me the story of the girl who hid once in a while.


My heart denied the color of blood

I was there, I could not lie.

As the man who had told me the story sat waiting

I stole a glance at his eyes once more,

His eyes were now red and brown. 


The color of blood chases me,

A river of blood is my war.

I tell you of this man, for if you see him,

tell him,

I do not hide anymore.


 
This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741