Poets logo

Red Joy

Even jewels become worthless if you don’t treasure them.— The Liar And His Lover

By Alexia VillanuevaPublished 6 years ago 1 min read
Like
You didn’t ask me for my opinion, but I’m old, so I’m giving it anyway.— Irene. 

Blood soaked sheets become ash

Say they're happy the

way your eyes twitch,

with grayness in the ivory

moonlight of fallen red

rose petals

Syrup poured on the concrete,

the very poise of your lips

as they become the color of plums,

welting like bruises in the sun.

Screaming that becomes catastrophic

like Sunday morning, love the color of ebony

turns to fighting patterns in the

eagles feathers, of lies.

Pretending to be happy,

unspoken heart filled with syrup like

pumpkin spiced pancakes.

When your just as sweet as running down your

plate like syrup,

as unsatisfied as the damaged

stained makeup wall, tasting brown sugar.

Snakes in the pit

of your throat,

unspoken scriptures,

kisses of the angels

on your lips.

Turning into a swan

of unspoken safe places

to turn.

Forming in the very mist of red joy

of time, no one

can see the blood soaked sheets of

a relationship that

dreads in the place of a curious place.

As I sit down

while my father

pours syrup on

my pancakes,

saying nothing because

it was all already said

in the way my father poured

his syrup...

sad poetry
Like

About the Creator

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.