Shades Of Blue

By Madiha

Grey.

You dream of a battlefield. You are armed, but alone. In the pursuit of being useful, you stab yourself.

Red.

You have been obsessed with blood. So you rip apart your skin. The sight of pulsating veins has, for so long, been your peace.

White.

All that blood was unnecessary. Your fingers have nothing left to bleed out. Your lungs spit pus.

Golden.

Some people are made of stardust, they say. Their wounds throw out blinding flashes of light.

Green.

Rest are made of divine clay. Their gashes sprout flowers that adorn the graves.

Black.

But everywhere the blade touches you, you see ashes rising and vanishing into thin air. Yours is not a Phoenix story.

Purple.

There are marks on your wrists. You are reminded of someone who had tried to pull you out and then had wailed at their failure.

Silver.

You now taste acid in your mouth. You should unload some of your weight. But sleep, for the light and the bright were never your home.

By Madiha