Red

Everywhere he looks, he sees red

He's not sure if the hue is in his head

He doesn't dare breath a word to anyone

The red is there, what's done is done

But the red is a funny thing, it's hard to forget

He has only whatever little peace it will let

So he walks around scared others will see

The person he is and who he doesn't want to be

Will it make it better or worse if he should confess?

The red. It might be easier to think of it less

Still sometimes forgiveness is harder to ask for than give

So with his pride, and with his red, he will continue to live.