Young Writers Society

***Content Warning; mentions of self-harm, and a whole underlying theme of suicide.***

RED is for blood 

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                                                                    i

                                                                   n

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down freckled arms;

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                                                                              l

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into still-bleeding scars,

leaving

s

   t

      r

e

   a

     k

   s

of brilliant crimson

on pale flesh.

For the feeling of adrenaline

pum-

pump-

pumping 

through blue veins

as cold iron slices

through them.

YELLOW is for bubble-clouded eyes 

and hearts 

as your message 

appears on the screen

black on blue background,

but still yellow to me.

For the happiest time of my life,

the color of a simple hello

from five years ago,

tucked away in my \m/i/n\d/.

ORANGE is for fire

licking dangerously

at nibbled fingertips;

burn marks fresh.

For the way fire bites,

heavy and cloying is

the scent 

of bUrNiNg skin.

For the warning signs F L A S H I N G

out at me from the side streets;

always present but completely ignored.

For dandelions, pretty 

but they're only

infectious

W E E D S.

Like me. 

W

o   

r

    m

 i

n  

  g

into places where they 

so clearly don't belong.

GREEN is for green M&Ms,

my least favorite candy and color

but you always argued with me

that M&Ms were better than Skittles

(which they're not)

but now I realize

it was a way to distract me

from the messy rearrangements my organs like to make

in the breaths between sentences,

in the pause between words,

so that i had no need

for iron and nails

to tear apart my body

piece by piece

until i'm nothing but scraps of human

and shadow

BLUE is for mushrooms,

the best kind, the impossible kind.

It's for delicate veins spiraling underneath skin,

an intricate web of kindness that only you could have.

PURPLE is for the bruises

lining my b a t t e r e d

and b/r/ok\\e\n body.

It's for sickly sweet grapes;

artificial,

like the people i call friends.

You were never grapes,

you were salty butter,

m

  e

      l

       t

         i

        n

       g

on my tongue,

the crisp, sharp taste of tart black cherries

that aren't really black, but the richest purple.

***

We were the colors of the rainbow,

messy and BRIGHT,

but now i am only

blacks and whites.