Colour the skies maroon
with that angry red streak
that you always have,
and the way your blood boils,
scarlet rage that brings rain so cold,
hail pelting down from the heavens
making me question religion;
making me question myself
again.

My skies used to be blue
with clouds painted, floating in grace,
a yellow sun in the corner of my page
back when I was younger than youth.

Though my skies are fading to grey,
I see the colours of your rage
so I'm making history for myself
this here, this now, these words,
writing until I break.

*Writing to escape.