Donning her joy like a pearly new necklace, she graces the ballroom.

She adjusts her pretty red dress that rests just below her ankles, so that she can move more freely.

She twists and turns and sways to the music playing in her mind.

Her hair shifts from being in a neat bun to wildly at her shoulders, and she is free.

When she locks eyes with the moonlight, her pupils widen with pure amazement.

As she blushes, her cheeks turn crimson, and she goes to the balcony.

She reaches towards it, with at first a step.

Then a leap.

She is with her moon; joy and pretty red dress and all.

And at the bottom of her palace, a pool of her pretty red dress is all that remains.

originally written 3/23/17
bryn 6d

too much.
too much blood.

help me

I am forest green.
I am the strong trees
that cannot be chopped down
by his
I am the grass that
tickles your toes.
I am the stem that
holds up the beautiful

I am poppy red.
I am the lava
that blows from the awakened
I am the blazed tip of her
cigarette which separates her thick
I am the scorching fire
that burns down the wretched

originally written 10/12/16

Nightmares have become my dreams.
I dream about dying, leaving this world.
I dream about razors, bathroom floors and never waking up.
But it's the same thing isn't it? Dream about the razors, bathroom floors and pills, wake up and see the razors, bathroom floors and pills.

Red on the floor.

Tiles can be mopped clean, water and cloth. Skin can be healed, stitches and bandage.
Blocking out the voices, ear buds.

But blocking out the voices in your head? Only one solution for that one.

Thanks for reading!!!

Red was the glow in his eyes,
The way his tinted lips took my attention
on an early glowing evening.
His sight sparked many shades of red,
And that of orange.

Orange was a layer of a tropical sky,
The sun casting down gently on such a gazeful gent.
As glistening was the pigment of a fine ring,
A mold had shaped his warm summer tan;
His skin a golden yellow.

Yellow was his natural shine,
A daisy in the midst of a patch of posies.
His character shined brighter than the exterior of his sky burnt skin,
And of that of any man I’ve come to know,
His flowery nature lasting among his sun-kissed petals,
Down to his burly stems of green

Green was the field of grass where we grew,
Our souls intertwining in such a lovely concoction.
I’ve never stopped to wonder which way the wind blew,
Or which direction sent the earthy string of nature ablaze,
Each strand flowing in an individual direction.
He held my hand through it all,
Our bodies lain across the patch.
Our hands encased and wrapped together.
Our eyes kept focused at atmosphere’s midnight blue.

Blue was our love.
The color of blood that ran through his veins
in which I knew gave him life,
And gave me mine.
Blue was the color of his jeans which excited me through their texture,
Their scent,
The sole object on him that I’ve come to realize was there the entire time,
From the lavender of a morning sky,
Casted down to the purple of an evening indigo,

Indigo was the night he loved me under the moon,
When the stars shined bright over our faces,
And the touch of his skin shined brighter than the stars themselves,
Among these constellations lying the pavement of a wind sulk violet.

Violet was the essence of his pores,
The essence that lasted longer than the span of life.
His natural aura glowed between us,
The same way a rainbow would shed its own;
A multitude of… colors.

Colors were his eyes.
His skin.
His smile.
His soul.

Colors were our blood.
Our scents.
Our sights.
Our sounds.

Colors were our everything,
From the moment he’d wake in bed,
To the last lovely thought he’d have when drifting into a slumbering sleep.

Colors were his height.
His hair.
His heart.
His hope.

Colors were my mind.
My thoughts.
My wants.
My desires.

Colors were mine.

But just like the Sun won’t last forever,
Until the moon rises above to seize the day and conquer the night,
A rainbow only lasts for as long as you would allow.
A rainbow only lasts for as long as he would allow.

For as long as he’d keep close attention to the surface,
He would only stay colored until his own face would dim into dust.

Suddenly the colors I once knew faded into shades of their own.

Red was the anger in his eyes.

Orange was the smoke,
The trail of his dead skin.

Yellow was the vomit of liquid poison,
The temptations of fermented gold that forever laid upon his tainted breath.

Green was the sickness of a disease,
His once foresty lungs and fiery stems gradually fading into their collapse.

Blue was his dried out veins.

Indigo were the bruises.

Indigo was the color of a midnight sky filled with constant arguing,
Our once amorous souls now unbinding into a useless string.

Violet was the last scent I breathed when he left me.

And soon after,
The departure of that one man,
Was the arrival of terror.

At the slam of the door,
And the silence of the night,
The colors soon faded as fast as he disappeared.

Suddenly, the cast of darker shades,
Darker sights,
Darker thoughts came along,
My feet drowning in the black that was once a puddle,
Now an ocean of thick dark water that spurt its heavy flavor into the throat of my own mouth.

The storm took me over faster than what I could remember;
What was once left a color now drowned in the black of evil emotions.

Memories broke down in the lightening of my mind,
The hope diminishing faster than I could see.
The black took control of who I used to be,
The darkness growing from what he took.

What was once love died into loss,
My heart no longer pumping the same red from before.
No longer glowing from the sky’s orange from before.
No longer warm like the yellow sky from before.
No longer growing in the green from before.
No longer controlled by the blue from before.
No longer resting on indigo night’s from before.
No longer essence of violets from before.

Before, my colors ranged from lights and darks,
But now,
Everything is black.

But just like the Sun won’t last forever,
Until the mood rises above to seize the day and conquer the night,
A storm only lasts for as long as you would allow.
A storm only lasts for as long as I would allow.

Gazing into the pitch black of the sea,
I know of what comes next.

As soon as the last blue tidal wave crashes,
As the glimpse of reds and oranges flow back from the abyss of indigoes and violets,
As the green glistens godly at the sight of the golden, yellow sun,
I come to realize:
The longer a storm crashes down on what you once felt,
The colors of a rainbow arrive faster.

I wait for what brightens again.
He may have drained what was left of the Earth,
But he can’t stop it from replenishing.
Neither… can I.

My anger is a deep burgundy;
My joy is a bright yellow.
My loneliness is a thunderstorm-grey;
My sadness is a turmoil of oceanic hues.
My hope is of lilac iridescence;
My despair is the darkest blue.
My love is a sweet pastel rainbow.
But my happiness and bliss?
It's the color of you.

April 19, 2017.
eleven 6d

A deck of hearts
A deck of spades
Some cards to get me
through the day

Shuffle the stack
And mix them so
You lay them down
And you're good to go

Black goes with red
Red goes with black
No cards in hand?
take three from the stack

Now we go from King
then Queen to Jack
Red, black, red
Black, red, black

If you've played for some time
it's safe to say
you've come across a card
that had an A
don't be confused, it's called an ace
If you find all four,
it's your lucky day!

So here's a truth
I'm sure you can bare
Congratulations, my friend
You just played solitaire

at a writing workshop and they asked us to make a poem out of something we had in our bags. I brought a tin with cards.
KKM Apr 15

light of a fire, staring in the bright eyes of a tiger as you wear your golden heart on your sleeve & try to fight off watery disaster but it'll come in the form of orange rose petals and bright blue lights and ink from your dangerous veins will seep through the pale of your jeans even on the days that the sun never seems to set as you sit atop a dusty mountain that shares your middle name so you climb back down with a look on your face that could only be one of either light determination or distant satisfaction, like the difference between citrus lime and citrus lemon in a coffee cup enough for 2 morning breakfasts and a sky full of shiny stars that you gracefully painted over with red chalk because you were on an adventure


There is nothing I can compare to the wait.
The moment before flesh hits wall
And knuckles hard as stone bleed against brick. 
We see red through the tears
that run down the distorted lines of our faces,
cooling the burning skin of our cheeks,
And seasoning our lips with salty streams.

We hide our sadness behind our rage.
Our bruised hearts behind bandaged knuckles,
The way the air smells fresh with perfumed lies and a hint of apologies.
The smell that reminds me of the color red.

And we wait for that moment,
That the line becomes blurred.
We loose our sense somewhere between adrenaline and addiction
To the pain they cause and the pain we live for.
And we wait.

We wait for a sign, a cure, an apology, an explanation, a reason.
Nothing compares to the static silence,
No words to describe the reckless sadness,
I close my eyes and the wait looks red.

-K. Moran

JR Rhine Apr 12

She opted for verdant grass
scintillating and dewy
in the offset of an afternoon

as opposed to the tepid
red brick pathway
damp and sanguine

sauntering in her black flip flops
blades of grass reach over
her soles and glaze
her milky toes

the bell sounds the hour
six o’clock
i’m late for class

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