Some days life is just wrong.

The air is poison and the rain, acid.
The water is scarlet red
and the clouds are blue ashes.

Days like these, where the world fades away,
the colors of nature are twisted
and my mind starts to decay.

These moments I wish would burn to dust
and poppy flowers.
Instead, I stand in the crimson rain
to taste the ****** showers.

These colors paint a story (I hope left untold)
in bright blue rust and lilac in bold.

Now the portrait is dead with tears running through it.
Red coats my hand, the knife in the ****** blueprint.