I will write in red.

It seems an apt selection.

The ink stains my skin

Like all the blood on my hands.

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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.