Yelling
Shouting
Screaming.
Wooden blocks
thrown across the room.
A forceful punch,
then blood like a geyser,
a carmine red.
Birthday candles.
Four birthday candles.
I once saw a little boy,
now I see a boy
splattered in red.
Dripping onto the tiles
that once beamed white,
but were now a tint of red.
Clothes that were once a pattern
of blue and white
were now soaked
with a dark purplish-red.
Red-
all I see is red.
Everything else is black and white.
But the red stands out.
Red is different.
Red is mysterious,
especially
when you don't know what happened.
Red
YOU ARE READING
My Voice Through Poetry
PoetryDepressed + gay = poetry 🤯 ⚠️ TRIGGER WARNING: including (but not limited to) self-harm, abuse, mental hospitals, eating disorders, and suicide.
