Lluring colors of blood, how it flings across scenes, deep bold shades of red
that hit the stomach, like looking into icy eyes for the first time, shockingly cold and blue,
like iridescent skeleton arms, reaching past my own irises to strangle my soul, a burning yellow.
I watch, wondering how a scene of thick scarlet streams dripping from torn tendons onto green
shaggy carpet looks as enticing and vibrant, as delicious as chocolate brown
covered strawberries, plump and dripping with juice, ripped open and revealing a crisp white,
the same white that flashes across screens, that fills empty rooms, with only a white
body covered red from eating too many strawberries filled with too much juice, a pretty pink red,
a corpse on display between pristine untouched walls, and the bright red mixes with brown,
matted hair, half ripped out, usually from struggle and torture, where there’s no hope for a blue
sky to appear, but continuous streaks of black nights, tornado-driven clouds, full of green
envy for the things we can’t have, the sun will never shine for the murdered, it’s bright lovely yellow.
I’ve noticed the luring candy-coated axes, power saws of sparkling yellow
that tear through the flesh so easily, instantly, cherry red replaces the skin’s white
tin tin pulsing waterfalls that can drown a man, push him past the green
depths of the thickest, murkiest swamps as a creature pulls him under brown, green, red,
into a falsely sparkling oblivion of death and decay, absent of the resounding blue
promises of heaven, the drive for the river of red always leads the lustful to hell’s filthy brown.