this is everything i didn't say

ninety-five

one finger on my pulse, multicolored lines underneath the string- I'm talking red, blue, yellow- let's not keep counting, shall we?

one strike for the red, and it's written so many places other than my wrist but we won't talk about that.

blue for the shaking, or was it the sadness?- my thought process has gone completely out the window and I'm not quite sure which way is up anymore.

yellow for the skeleton i morphed into this past summer- they say you are what you eat- if you eat nothing do you become nothing?

keep quiet about the other colors, counting won't do any good. don't ask about the black, I don't like to talk about that one.

i wear the lines like scars, and by that i mean i keep them hidden. never mind about awareness- I'm too scared of the questions.

pretty, pretty colors for such ugly, ugly things so we'll pretend they're something nicer. red is roses and blue is violets and yellow is the cliché ending to this poem. ask for the black back, it is the absence of all the definitions we had before.

let's join a new universe where these colors never meant anything but good. put the markers back in the box and paint the sky with your fingertips if things get too quiet. sure, your body is a canvas but the whole world could be yours if you asked.

the lines project // k.