the color red is cliché.
i do not love in red; i love in brown. i love within the comforting walls of brown you engulf me in. i melt into your arms like sweet chocolate and let you drown me like the brown depths of the ocean. i love in the brown strokes painted into your very eye as your gaze intersects with mine.
i'd rather be given your brown shelter to love then a red rose that will wither away the next day.
the color red is cliché.
i do not get angry in red. i get angry in gold.
you have to dig deep through the depths of my brown soiled love to mine that gold and figure out where the hell you went wrong. i shine with burning passion that's darker than the sun's radiance yet more powerful and i cry in gold carots, leaving you wishing you collected that gold before you left.
the color red is a fantasy.
i feel through the tones of reality.
