Red is deep anger that never comes out
Red is believing, and then having doubt.
Red reeks of revenge, of suffering and hate.
Red is being thirsty and having to wait.
Red, in a painting, makes one hot and confused,
It’s the anger of crying when you feel you’ve been used.
Red is that voice, deep in your head,
It could keep you back, but pushes ahead.
It mocks you silently with a voice full of hate,
“You can’t do it, you are weak, and it is your fate.”
Red feels like fire, singeing your heart,
It’s wanting to be together, but having to part.
Red is running through desert and sun,
It’s needing a friend, but having none.
Red is the heart that’s been broken in two,
It’s hearing those lies, and wanting what’s true.