Musings of a young black weirdo


Hot, fire, passion
The burning of hot coals
Leaps off the painting and into my eyes.
I close them, and the color
Is permanently etched into my memory.
The color of love, it reminds me of feelings I once had
That made my blood move with intensity
And my heart beat a little bit faster.
The color of rage, it makes me
Think of the power of his fist
And the pain it once caused.
The color of beautiful crimson roses
And the blood that trickles down
My finger
When I forget that it has thorns.
The color of my memories,
Some sweet, some painful
That are trapped inside my mind.


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