Red.
Red are the circular stains on the wood
Where your wine glass stood.
Red are the plump cheeks of your face
After he screams his disgrace.
Red are the finger-shaped marks on your chest
Where his anger laid to rest.
Red are the rings around your eyes
When you’ve said your goodbyes.
Red is the colour of the blood from your veins,
You only tried to kill the pain.
Red was the colour of your nails that night
They found you lying still but you were nowhere in sight.
