I know your sizes, your favorite colors and of course what colors look best on you.
I know your favorite foods, least favorite feelings, all of your birthdays.
I remember all of your first words, and I pray to any higher power that I will never know your last words.
I have known you from out of the womb to now, from your chubby baby faces and first steps to thin faces and first bras and the "Talk"
I know everything on how to take care of you,
but I don't think I know what it feels like to be a real sister.
I don't know your first crush, first kiss, your least favorite saying. I don't know your true dreams and Hopes, I don't know if you play as a stay at home dad or a firefighter mom when you play House. I don't know how to be that, I don't know how to be a friend I pushed myself so far away so when I left life, it wouldn't hurt as much because then I wouldn't know what I would have missed. I regret every moment that I never took the time to know your favorite character in movies and video games. Your favorite plant and favorite smell.
I regret everything I am to you, even though I will never be as good as your second sister, just remember that I love you all more than you can imagine, even if my love feels like it is realms away, that I will fight every fight you need me too.

Some pull closer to their loves when their heart feels the winter, some pull closer to their friends to not burden their loves with it, some push away completely, in hopes that that bridge isn't covered by the time they come back around.
Maybe I'll make a cabin out of materials that brought the slightest smile to your face, you can stay there and I'll remain on the other side of that bridge so you won't be affected by the way the draft brings in the snow

People believe that red is a warm color, like red apples in July. The ones we wished we picked instead of the red crabapples we found. The warmth we found was in the sickness we got after eating too many of them, then it went as cold as the bizarre that same year. If that was the year I would had changed into the person I am today instead, maybe the blood wouldn't have dripped out of me along with the last bit of my sanity. Maybe it would have frozen in place and the snow would have remained purity white.
Red isn't warmth at all, red isn't spicy as people would say. It is bitter, it is cold like how the blood runs down my thighs, I am not talking about the blood from being a ******* person with a ****** that cries ruby red blood monthly. I am talking about how the cold blood runs down my thighs, from my reopened scarred thighs, when I'm crying and begging for control of my body again. All I can think of is how I cannot stop until my thigh is that color, because then I'll see those purple scars when I'm sick again and again and again until I finally give in and stab myself. At this point, might be better than what I've done. What I am really is a hopeless lost cause, just a basket case