i always associated the colour scarlett with a brightness. the love of valentines day or the blush filling one's cheeks on a chilly saturday. scarlett meant life to me, and i never thought it'd represent opposite.
scarlett was love.
scarlett was a heart shaped box of chocolates, the sparkle of fireworks, a can of cranberry sauce on thanksgiving day.
scarlett was optimism.
scarlett was a thank you card, a bright balloon at a birthday celebration, or the painted lips of a woman on a first date.
scarlett was never meant to be pain.
scarlett wasn't meant to be a sharp bracelet of numbness, a sleeve of anger that melted into the floor, or the cold emptiness that accompanied silver.
scarlett wasn never meant to be anger.
scarlett wasn't meant to be the screaming i hear in my head at night, the holes in the door, or the deep stain of aggression falling against my knuckles.
the first syllable seems to fit too well nowadays.
Ladies and gentlemen, Please do not let your significant others Keep you from talking to your friends Because our time on this earth is limited And we need all of the people we can To live our days as if they are the last. By shutting me out, dear, You are taking pieces of my life.
The day comes in with a Flash of light and I begin to creep Further into my bed thinking Of days when normal was normal. I reach my hand towards my ceiling in the Dark room with a single blue light that haunts me through it’s enchanting glow It’s mesmerizing glow astounds my Soul. as I slowly begin to fall asleep I ask for answers to my “problems.” I pull my hand down and think of the blue paint that is now white and shining. My brother comes in after my brother opens the curtains in my room to awaken me from my decrepit sleep of shame and depression. I can only believe he is here to show me comfort or some basic form of loving compassion. He leaves without looking at me as if to say “I don’t care.” I look further at him wondering if these humans will forgive my weaknesses, my uncontrollable wanting and fear. I’m alone, I realize that now. I am supposed to act like an 18 year old for the rest of my life? isn’t that unreasonable? I’m supposed to survive on 1/4 the food I need? What god planned this? I’m limited and forced to feel weak. I’m slowly falling apart. The cattle meat I’ve been been surviving on does not satisfy my needs. I need something to bleed. I sit up after these questions run through my mind and think of when my “normal” will feel “normal.” what complete trash of a feeling... what am I? My mind as human as most of the people around me. My morals are changing and my hunger is raging. The pain won’t go away. What should I do, how will I eat?
“Don’t ruin my artwork” He said to me when I was still his canvas But he grew less fond of my colors, now dull My blues to greys Fading away The white washed over me And I was no longer his masterpiece
I get lost in my own words don’t know where I end and the character begins. Writing to keep the ink from spilling the blood in my veins flowing. Wishing that time would start slowing. There is so much to do so much time to sleep so much time to fill knowing that it is time to replace the silence and speak the truth.