everything is one out of two:
it's soaked in the color red,
or it's dripping the color blue.
from the bruises on my skin
to the ink of my pens,
everything is colored,
even the words that you've said.
the sunburns on my shoulders,
and the veins on my wrist,
leaves when the weather gets colder,
and my lips that are never kissed.
the colors of my eyes,
the brightness of the front door,
the saddest of goodbyes,
the feeling of "I can't take it anymore."
the colors of my favorite songs,
the colors of my room,
the colors of not knowing
what's right and wrong,
the colors I'll be wearing
when I'm sent to my tomb.
YOU ARE READING
the poetry of an asocial teenager
Poetryhello i write songs but sometimes those songs cannot be songs and so they just have to be poems. i didn't know what to do with them but i think they deserve recognition so they are going to go here. thanks.
