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Red // by Ophelia B. (July 2019)

Her hair as fine
As copper wire, tangled
In the crevices of his clutches,
Shades of blood, blood, blood red,
Dripping from the divots of his fingers.
Trace his name in sweat and tear the
Mere embodiment of him in thought
From your mind,
Tear him like
All those pages you tore
Outlining the shape of his lips
When he spoke your name.
He once told you that
Red was his favorite color.
That the shade of your
Scarlett tresses never ceased to
Bring him some form of comfort.
Now, you know,
Little girl.
Now you know that
Red was, indeed, his favorite
But it stemmed from the
Raging fires and fleshly desires,
He had in mind.
When he chose you.