Categories
Poetry

Too Blue for Red

March 2018.

Too Blue for Red

All I can hear is my own shallow breath and

I can’t turn the page

I’m in the same place and

I despise my own age

I’ve felt nauseous for months

My world remains gray

I think about heaven but

I refuse to pray

The music stopped helping

and the colors, they fade

What a waste of time

were those things that I made

The world drones on

in its peculiar motion

I need someone, fast

Some toxic love potion

Please, will you slow down for me,

I promise I’ll focus

The problem, I think,

Is that my thoughts seem to choke us

I’ve done it to myself,

I love the blues too often,

But with them and the cigarettes,

My body starts to soften

I’m imprisoned inside

every second, I think;

I don’t want to talk with you,

I just want to drink

One day I’m living,

the next I’m in bed,

all too blue for yellow,

and too blue for red

I can see some sort of life

far away from my own,

but I can’t seem to get there,

so just hand me the phone and I’ll

dress myself in purple

or maybe in black

and I’ll try to create

but I’ll only come back

to this hard downy bed

and sing to nightmares,

then cry to some god,

a reject, a spare.

Did I ask you for something?

O how selfish of me;

here, take parts of my body,

wipe your blood on my sleeves.

My hands have been cold

for seventeen years

and I don’t see any good in

warming them here

If you did touch my skin

I guess I didn’t feel it,

Forgive me, forgive me,

try again, I’ll be real, it

seems like some joke,

playing off like your friend,

I can feel us in your bed

again and again

You pig, you dog,

you beautiful god,

I hate you so much

and I hate that I’m flawed

I broke my guitar

and I wish April were dead,

and until then I’ll be

comfortably trapped in my bed,

I’m too blue for red,

I’m too blue for red.

By Ella

I am an undergraduate junior studying creative writing. I am interested in short fiction, poetry, creative nonfiction and professional writing.

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