And you are sitting on the border of the life’s mattress,
you all wear your truths as color codes.
Your best friend wears sandy yellow and her father’s wrath was the sun, she was Icarus, adoring something so damaging, plunging so gracefully.
You wear red,
not for blood or risk or everything that appears like it unearthed its way out of your body to let you live.
you wear red,
because to be loved is to bleed
You have been so loved that it choked the life out of you.
and all your friends are drunk
There are pigments without rays in them
Like black and gray and showery days blue, some filmy tint of neglect, of rejection, of survival.
You all smoke cigarettes and play Jenga with your traumas,
it tumbled after you put yours ontop of it and you all bond over whose Mother’s hatred scorched the hottest.
You are high on booze and rage
Your parents are just Children in bodies that never knew hugs,
Your formative years retains too much horror tales
So you and your friends, offsprings of midnight flogging and peppered lungs,
You all lay on God’s eyes
and you ask Her to see you
You ask her,
“why would someone so all-knowing gift you to such broken children!!! “


© Hope