It is the color I saw when he hit me
When the blood on my wrists would dry,
He wouldn't even calm me,
He'd simply tell me not to cry.
It's the color of the marks he'd leave
Sometimes purple too,
When those blue eyes would look at me
I'd dumbly say, "I love you".
But be careful my dear,
Because in certain lighting,
One might mistake fear
For an awful dirty brown.
Or a dangerous, sinful... Black.
YOU ARE READING
Dark Poems
PoetryJust some simple poems, Nothing more, nothing less. They are my originals, Don't make me second-guess.
