metaphors, they lie
we are made to believe there is meaning
beneath every symbol we try
to decipher—
the door is red, it expresses anger
I wore the red but I am empty
as I try to grasp the reality
I am alone and bathed in shame
flicking switches on and off
in the bathroom
soaking blood-stained sheets
blood is death
death is rather colorless—
a starless sky
a vacuum.