blood stains

unnaturally rosy cheeks

red is his favorite color

her’s is green

she has never seen a green scar before

green is the grass where she lays down at 2 oclock in the afternoon

he is at work

it’s the very end of her late lunch break

red is her evenings

pink is her nights

clear bath water tinted

her hand in his

senseless sorry’s

she nods

she forces herself to believe them

four teardrops restore the bath water to clear

white are her mornings

the bedsheets are bright and clean

she does not go into the bathroom

it reminds her of insanity

and realizations

the first time she hated the color pink

her mouth is a graveyard

her lungs choking on dirty syllables

her lips belong to his index finger

and incessant shushings 

silence is loud

it rings in her ears and is accompanied by madness

but it brings him peace flavored by guilt

out is not a word in her vocabulary

she thinks that promises are meant to be broken

and women are meant to be torn apart

love is fire instead of flame

it burns your skin

it is red