it's not hyperbolic to say
that i will not be missed.
When the dust settles, and the fae hide between them;
when the fire burns out to ash-
no. I won't be missed.

It's a promise they make to you.
Just after you do it.
When your lungs are freshly pumped,
and your wrists bandaged up.

The age old lie,
"It get's better, give it time."

How much time must I give to you?
You insistent slime.
How dare you claim to have an answer,
when there was no question at all?
Only a solution.

I wrote my oath in my blood and scarred my skin,
in my meek desperation to find something.
Anything!
I've cursed my organs and raptured my throat.
If I dare let myself think about it, then I can still
taste the bile I swallowed.

And yet. Still.
I am here.
I have been cursed to wander this world for eighteen years now,
and not one thing I have found has given me my answer.

It's not a sign, It is a burden.

I'm not an emotional woman.
I cry scarcely and secretly,
but there's something to be said
about seeing the rain
for the first time in years,
that truly and utterly
moved me to tears.

I could not hold Salvont
in the same way I clutched the moon.
Instead he asked me for knowledge
and my intention of my placement.
It's easy to ignore Salvont,
as I can simply step away.

I held the moon in my hands today,
and I wept a little.
He asked me,
"you do you weep?"
and we shared the burdens of the world.
Mister Moon is not wise,
but he is reliable.

I am well acquainted with Sad.
We have performed a waltz or two,
perhaps a Pas de Deux.
And I thought I liked Sad-
but I suppose that's purely from habit.
And nothing can, nor will compare
to the ecstasy that Anger brings.

For the first time, in a long time
I lost myself.
no, no. Not lost...
Indulged myself.

How foolish of me to think that it was you
who was red
Ha!

It's not lust or love that surrounds you,
but rather the pure, unfiltered wrath
which engulfs and consumes me.

I do believe I have found a new mistress,
and I am loving the red.