I was born with my tongue stapled to the roof of my mouth. Words left unsaid — wounds left to rot in open air. An amputee of emotions — a divine tragedy.

I have conversed with dew-laden petals of fragrance; the souls long gone by in the sky; the crimson warmth seeping through my windows; the blank stares of my walls.

My skin has been peeled over and over again — even the slightest breeze stings my flesh — the rinds discarded in a corner of the house. Opinion had been born with the burden of defiance for me — of love, of respect. To voice your mind meant rejecting authority.

I was born with a pair of roses stabbed into my eyes — the petals ever so gently caressing the putrid reality, while the thorns gash hard at my mind. I have bled scarlet, and I have bled gold — a craven tragedy. The stems have grown, and the roots are intertwined with my skull, slowly finding their way out to my soul.

So plant me in a field full of sunflowers when I eventually succumb. I’ll depart, embracing the warmth I forever longed for.

With lips sewn shut, and knives for fingers, everything perishes at my touch. A lover, a loner — but never once loved. To be noticed is an honour, reserved solely for blood untainted by words.

Chopped my hair off — the scissors still lying thrust into my skull, in the same place you left them be. Cold as ice — melting at the faintest mellow breath.

I have seen dragons soaring in the sky; your tears forming the hues of twilight.

I have not been born devoid of love, you know. It’s been hollowed out of me, one spoonful at a time — an empty shell dressed as human. Fill me up with pebbles and let me drown in an ocean; a reflection of your faint turquoise would suffice. If not the birds, I’ll settle for the fish and swim to reach the bottom, where your blue could never reach.

Paradise — a whiff of familiar scent; I have forsaken my own. Walking barefoot on your breath, my feet have been calloused to all terrains.

To have no point of return would mean I died trying to find even a single one. Searching for the slightest sight of your fingers in the dark, I’d put mine in the mouths of animals. Now both my arms are bitten off, so please, oh please, don’t reach with yours.

I wouldn’t be able to hold them anyhow.

Scarlet & Gold