If pain was a colour, I feel like it would be purple. At the crossroads between the sadness of blue, And the rage of red. Bruised. Confused. A consequence secondary to the impact. Not intended to pierce skin, but lasting long enough to feel it.
How can love be the only thing able to create and destroy; Mimicking the divine, yet making you lose faith in it altogether?
My eyes are coloured red. Cheeks flushed with despair. Salty tears splatter my sweater. Nails chipped. Sun down. Clouded and silenced.
Disoriented from the recoil of a loaded gun pulled too soon. Every melody sounds flat, but the ringing in my ears remain sharp.
I can only hear the faint hum of my heartbeat, Attempting to carry on. Barely blinking. Eyelids half shut. Egg shells have turned into shards of glass on every floor I walk on. Disconnected. Discombobulated. Disorganized. Disappointed.
A bleeding heart turned purple. What would it take to feel whole again?