Red

My mind is a burning lava. Hot, fiery, shameful.

My hope is an uncontrolled hydrant, chaotic, messy.

But almost always I'm that crispy macintosh in November.

Raspberry jam on toast. I hide like a chocolate covered 

Strawberry waiting to be bitten. Carefree, compassionate

Cranberries in the winter. A firecracker longing to be lit.

Moms favorite lipstick shade. Callus, cruel lobster claw

scratching at my existence.