red
like the flames that turn whatever may touch them
to ash
red
like a song with an intense beat
red
like the thin line of color on the wing of a bird
or the marker that i used so much
that it ran out of ink long before the others
red
like the blood that pooled on the kitchen floor
as i hid my face in terror
red
like the maple leaves that skittered across your grave
as the brisk air wrapped me in a blanket of regret 
for all the things i did not tell you
red
like the flashing numbers on my alarm clock
awakening me for yet another day of listless staring at a screen
and wishing i could have made things better
red
like the poinsettias my mother used to buy every christmas 
red
like the strawberry jam i spread across my toast 
red 
like the way it feels
to be angry
at life
at myself
at the entire world