I would tell you my favorite color
but it's not like it would matter
My favorite shade of green won't take away your pain
My preferred blue isn't going to change the past

The red that spills from your wrists is the only color you can see
or think about.
The way it feels as it empties you.

I would tell you my favorite color,
but I know it's not important.
You don't care if I dream about your dark eyes
or your ebony hair
or the soft pink of your lips.
Because you're too caught up in your own head
to think about what you're doing to me.