Title: Vermilion Tales
He let the sun set until the sky was black,
And he couldn't see,
So he had darkness.
The darkness in his mind was black,
But the darkness on his skin was red.
Lacerations from pain and for pain.
I asked him to tell me his story,
So he read his arm for me.
He told me that straight lines meant pain,
Pain from deep within the heart.
The kind of pain that is direct and unmistakable,
Like a straight line.
He told me that jagged lines meant anger,
Uncontrolled and going in every direction,
As his anger flowed down both sides of his body.
His entire being.
He told me that diagonal lines meant sorrow,
Misinterpreted and vague,
And covered over the pain and anger.
Sorrow seemed to get in the way -
It made the rest of the story difficult to read.
He continued from his wrist to his elbow,
The lines getting longer and thicker
As the story progressed.
When I thought he was finished, he lifted his sleeve,
And began chapter two of his autobiography.
Tags: