[[RED]]

There was no passion,

Not too much anger,

And not a bit of love.

Perhaps only an endless pit of hatred and disgust.

[It was just red.]

Everything was red-

His hateful, disfigured arm-

The blood of his father Mana-

The curse on his face.

[Even the name he was used to being called]

That color was hateful,

That color was the devil.

It was almost like the color of his hair before they's turn white

It was similar to his reactions to Mana's bad jokes

It was similar to the feeling of warmth he'd feel when he made Mana smile

It was similar to the blush on his face after their first Christmas together.

[It was winter, He was cold.]

And again,

Before him appeared it again:

The color red.

His own blood in the snow and,

All clad in black,

A man with deep red hair.

[He cursed.]

Some days he would scream when he'd only see red,

Some days he'd want to die because of the burning red fever.

While he hated the red wine for being so expensive,

He also loved it for having been able to make him sleep before.

While he hated those eyes that seemed to burn with desire and anger,

He loved how they could get them a place to stay in storms.

[But also no place to run to, And far too many places to run from.]

After the red wine,

The blood came back in force

Like after sunny days come rainy days.

The battlefield was red-

Red in anger-

Red in blood-

Red in flames.

[Red in memories of the names.]

Until one day,

They all turned black.

[Burnt to ashes.]

His arm,

His dreams,

His friends.

All either black or white.

And while he was still stuck in between,

The red stroke again.

That man's blood sprayed the window and walls,

Timcampy came to rest in it.

[All bloody red.]

Oh how he hated the color red.


...Mmmmnn... so? How was it? Normally, my poems don't have that much of such storyline in them (I guess) so how was my first try? Like really, if you think it sucks I WANNA KNOW. THANKS AND REVIEW! Once again, I do not own -Man and I accept requests!