I will write in red.
It seems an apt selection.
The ink stains my skin
Like all the blood on my hands.
-0-
The color cuts.
It is mangled.
My scrawl makes a scribble of every letter
None what they ought to have been.
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No matter how lovely the words
It does not matter what they say
If no one can stand to read them.
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I wrote in red.
I wore a fake face.
Blood was the only way
To force them to listen.
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I smeared my notes as I wrote them.
I traded hope of harmony for discord.
Red was the one color
That made them see.
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A man with such ghastly penmanship
Has only the power of red words
To make himself read.
