Red

Red.

Her eyes were and red with anger.

Face stained with tears

No longer did she have a meaning,

A purpose.

Her life meant nothing to them

Expendable and so naive and so kind

So kind

And the world stopped just once-

just once to look her up and down,

With pity 

They turn away

Keep her in you prayers,

Bless her with money and endless words

Empty, hollow words that do nothing but mock her

And the spinning, vast world is red.

His fists purple and blue and red

The sky pink and orange
Fading into black nothingness that would consume him if he stared up for too long

So he looked down on the world

With worry and sorrow for those living blindly

And gratitude for those living freely.

And no-one ever wanted to look at him.

The epitome of violence staring them in the face

A swampy, thick red, 

with a black undertone

Leaking like blood

Out onto the street.

Red, silky hair flowing in salty beach wind 

A memory so old it has been re-written in dreams and with time

Yet the sunlight on her face always strikes her the same way.

Red dresses and silk and fabrics cut from jealousy and deception

Making dresses of envy and envious art 

My little red.

My red who surprises me with her insight, her words, and her suffocates me with articulate emotions. 

My little red mind, and my red thoughts.

And my deep, dark blue heart.