An apple, the fire,
a kiss, my heart.
The color of passion,
blood, war.
Strong and ruthless,
yet warm and caring.
The color of love,
pain and hurting.
The color of my lips,
my nails and heels.
The color of your tie,
your hair and cheeks.
Power,
flames,
desire,
a heartache.
February the 14th,
heart shaped boxes,
the roses on the floor that you threw
'cause she said she didn't wanted them.
Suicide, boldness, a thread.
The color of passion.
Blood
Red
YOU ARE READING
Moths
PoetryThey deserved better... Jane, Methuselah, Razor, these are some protagonists of Moths, a series of poems and short stories about loneliness, depression and maybe death... Only one way to find out. I DO own the cover (now)
