If life could be written, I would write mine in letters red. As if the ink were the blood of my heart.
A heart speaks in a language unspoken.
Especially a heart that still bleeds from being broken.
Between heaves and sighs and movement of lungs
A heart sings a song otherwise unsung.
Where sorrows and joys mingle together
Yet less of a noise than an airborne feather.
Where anguish and ecstasy coexist
Not one lifts a finger much less a fist.
This is where my soul rushes to hide
When the sky is dark and crushes my pride.
someday I'd like to have my life written in letters red, but I wonder if those written letters would be read.