She sits here to write a poem about the color that she has subconsciously chosen for her late night, dark movie of a life; the color that consumes her train of thought.
RED is the iron taste that calms her brain and her sick, hungry craving.
RED is her rage fueled violence that sends her raving.
RED is the chains of love that tie her to the dead man that holds her close.
RED is the remains of her many loved ones overdose.  
RED is the sounds of dark creatures in her room while she fights drowsy consciousness.
RED is the flashing lights arriving at her house to relieve her family of suicidal drama.
RED was her liquid cure to trauma.
RED is the hospitals unforgiving smell of the broken minded girl, in dire need to forget the RED sticky liquid in her hands.
RED is what she feels when no one understands.
RED is the devils strong words manipulating her movements.
RED is the crackling fire preventing her of improvements, it sends her too much joy.
RED is the lipstick that covers her when she pretends to smile.
RED is the lines that begins to pile upon her skin while she deals with the misery she’s living in. She writes her poetry to keep her sane,
Take the bad thoughts, and remove them from her brain.  
To share them with others helps her know that someone cares, because the thought of being alone is the only thing that scares her.
Abandonment has sent her down this path so when she portrays violence, it’s a much perfected craft,
She wants to keep her friends but she just pushes them away because who would like to stay with the girl filled with rage.
What’s sad about this story is that the story is true,
And this story is mine, it’s nothing new. But now you know all my baggage and cracks that keeps me away from the rest of the pack.
I’m an outcast and a liar to say that I’m fine, but the movie that I made with this color is truly divine.
Please don’t worry my dear, I’m getting better with time.
This poem is the past and I’m in the world of new so maybe my next movie in Technicolor would be best if it was BLUE.

The ******.
They say that beauty is in the eyes of the
beholder, however the ******
is a gold mine.

Women do not even know
what their possess
many a nation have gone to war,
because of this ugly beauty,
the seven hundred wives of
King Solomon and his three
hundred concubines
a great example of what
the ugly beauty can do.

Infidelity is on the rise,
so many lies,
since the ****** is an embarassing subject
why men lie and killed for it,
For this remarkable commodity

A ****** is like a Van Gogh painting,
it gets lot of attention.
A weapon so powerful
It can break a man down to his lowest
it has a language of its own.
silly words like sup, sup, sup. during loving making
However, that was supposed to be the primary appeal
of a beer to men.

The ****** and a beer have so much in common
they both get their men all the time,
a smooth transportation,
in addition, the lamentation,
****** you are surely number one!
Men incredible dreams,
No matter how destructive or fulfilling,.

.

My heart dressed in polka dots and dark shades
Hair and hurt sitting on shoulder blades
Across rose-colored skin,
I brush my fingers over bumps and scarred perfection.

Dance with me in a pit of quicksand, rockabilly babe
And help me understand that I don't need to be afraid

We are children with short attention spans
and short term parents,
and it's apparent, in this short span of time,
I love you.

Oh, Tepid Girl!
You insipid fool,
Beware your step!
Your bank-less waters,
Brackish, deep.
Keep your head
above the break, girl!
You're gonna sink.
You're neither here
Nor there, girl!
Can't go back,
Stuck, stand still.

Oh, paint your face girl
It doesn't change,
Face the light!
You aren't beauty,
You're that grey area,
In between,
Smart but mute, girl.
Blinders on,
Hackles drawn,
You're neither hot
Nor cold, girl.
Can't hang on,
Quick, patch up.

Oh, Tepid Girl!
You insipid fool,
You burned yourself.
On Monotony,
So Robotically!
Tragically,
Girl.

I'm sorry I loved you
So dreadfully whole,
And with the white-washed candidness of soul.

I'm sorry I loved you,
And that with everlasting breath:
I praised your song,
Sung, as if to the death.

I'm sorry I dared raise
All hope's expectations,
By reaching out a childish hand
To cold adult's gaze,
And thinking my love untrue -
Why else then, my innocence razed?

I trusted you.
Like God trusted man with Paradise.
I fell in love with you -
Your untainted beauty and miraculous eyes.

I'm sorry.

For youthful naivety,
I´m sorry.
For universal chord that ties us together,
And untied us forever,
I´m sorry.

For praying to a fallen God,
Loving a pig's gall and sod
Dreaming that from the clod and dirt
Of the earth's mud
A Prometheus of love returned might rise -
But rise the love did not
And child's heart was shot
And child's innocence did die
I'm sorry I loved you,
You with the miraculous eyes.