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Red

Stained red.
My lips.
A mark.
Of something I’m ashamed of.

Started off innocent.
Ended up somewhere else.

I don’t know.

I forget.
I omit.
I can’t remember.
The details.

Just red.
On my lips.
On the floor.
The way it hits, yeh.

Stained red.
Bloodshot eyes.
A mark.
Can’t look you in the eyes.

Started off innocent.
Ended up somewhere else.

I don’t know.

I forgot.
Did I omit.
Can’t remember.

Just red.
On my sheets.
On the floor.
How it hits, yeh.

Stained red.
On my lips.
On the floor.
I omit.

Stained red.
I forget.
On my sheets.
Can’t forget.

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Author: Conrad

Nothing quite like good company and a great whine - I prefer red. Head of Creative at Afrihost. Writing is like therapy, so welcome to a slice of my mind.

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