All she saw was darkness,
but she dreamed of the colors.
She imagined them like feelings and smells,
and the embrace of her mother.
She listened to stories told,
and tried to imagine blue.
"It's the color of the ocean," they told her.
"It would smell like salt to you."
Then she placed her fingers on her pulse,
and dreamed of the color red.
"It's the color of blood," they told her.
"Or the coldness of being on your deathbed."
And she held a leaf close to her eyes,
and tried to smell green.
"It's the color of lush forests," they told her.
"Or the feeling of fresh air and being free."
But then when they tried to describe black,
she insisted she already knew.
"It feels like a warm home to me," she told them.
"But it would be described as terror to you."
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Words to My Demons | Poetry ✔️
Poetry❝she was simple, an angel born without wings. yet she was special, an enchanting song her lost soul sings. ❞ A dark and deep poetry collection of every little thing that makes us both unique and insane. ~ Highest ranking in Poetry: #7 ~ 1st Place in...
