Their names still burn your throat with the same fire that lit their pyres 3000 years ago.
And yet you still have the audacity to call them dead?

Red is the rose
and the polish on my toes

Red is the kiss on my cheek
and my dress– truly chic

Red is also blood
and bodies in the mud

Red is red
Love and dead.

I thought if I could swallow the stars
I’d be as beautiful as the evening sky
I tried one night    with fireflies
They burned my throat
Their legs striking at soft flesh
But my skin did not glow
No moon crawled from my eye sockets
I was left with corpses in my stomach
I soon learned I would only ever be
A cemetery

Someone once said,
                                
                             “If you are true friends
                         no matter whatever happens
                          you will always meet again”

Every night  
before I sleep
I close my eyes
and begin to weep

I lay there watching
the curtains sway
In a room
I painted black and grey

Will the morning
ever come
why do I hope
to see the sun
when tomorrow
I’ll be going mad
hopelessly
feeling numb