Tw: depression and suicidal tendencies.
Melancholy blue of the vermilion hue.
Madness and captivity stuck in table lamps that bleed. I bleed red and I think blue and I think of death as my only muse.
Arbitrary sombre sadness strikes now and then, making living a miserable deed to do. Each third Monday of this straining year I bleed red and think blue.
When the clock strikes at ten, the menstrual cramps kick in, all the hell breaks loose when I bleed red and think blue.
Metaphors of red hibiscus and stained skirts. Similes of red flowers and whispers of scarlet wars. There’s a war and a battle in between my legs and I feel defeated by my sadness in my little head.
Melancholy blue of the vermilion hue, I stumble and fall on my little bed bleeding like I have a small pain in my chest. I have a small pain in my lower abdomen and the pain is as small as a civil war.
My sadness bleeds all over the place. It bleeds over my bed. It bleeds over my chair. It bleeds in my congested head. My sadness bleeds for a few days or two and makes me feel it’s blue for five days and two.