To feel red, to bleed red, to be red.

It's not enough.

The blood must flow unconsciously,
The need bleeds from every inch of self.

A hunger, that is not misunderstood.

A quiet day followed by empty nights without her.

It's finding she's Yoko to your Lennon.

Ah, the silence of conniptions.

What would they say, what would they do?

There is no cold white light for me.
Only the stark white after all the grey.