why does red,
the color associated with anger,
also the color of passion,
fate,
and love?

asking a child,
one whom has never fell in love,
nor seen true love,
in their existence-

(now you wait little miss,
your parents are in love,
are they not?)

-you'd be wrong to assume,
my mother loved my father,
anymore, that is...

love is dead,
my mother hummed to him,
our love is dead

She calls me,
upon her deathbed,
she's bruised,
broken,
and sore.

Dear child,
I love you,
I know I hurt you,
but know this one thing,
I love you,
my child.

She calls for my hand,
I lay it on her wilting,
fragile,
and broken hand.

She struggles to bring a hand,
over to my cheek,
and whispers,





















"I honestly should have swallowed..."

Life is an illusion.
The one reading this doesn't exist.
The one writing this doesn't exist.
Anything I say (you, me, anyone really)
Will not matter in 30 days
30 hours?
30 minutes?
30 seconds?
Who's to say?