Rose red lipstick, ruby
red orange writing on the bed.
Blood on my skin, staining
the threads crimson.
It was too late. Time
was turning nervous in my hands.
I went walking to the hallway
to find excuses instead.
Red, red, red, red.
Run, run, run, run,
to what? To what?
I stood by your hand,
caressed silence, scared
of red. Indian red
lips are lifeless, split and white.
Insisted I say something
into tile and try.
It was too late. Time
was turning nervous in my hands.
I went crying to the hallway
and gray stayed instead.
Red, red, red, red.
Run, run, run, run
to what? To what?
