Flames sleep within the mountain’s core,
Red, raging, yet restrained.
Silence wraps it like a secret.
But when it breaks…
A dark light appears.

“I don't know how to take this
I don't see why he moves me
He's a man, he's just a man
And I've had so many men before
In very many ways
He's just one more“
<•>
ladies
you know ~ I know
these lyrics and the deep cut
and the familiar rut,
they unsecret in our inner chambers

and there is no bandage to
rip off, which/why the cut
never heals
despite your careful care to never
actively seek out the
irritant

but it finds you
in a rom-com
a particular intersection
a advertisement for half zip sweaters
when saying no to a
particular restaurant automatically

and the emotional shake,
not a smoothie,
part horseradish sweet sad,
part bitter herbs, tasteless bread,
spiced with a blend of
angry, self-loathing, regret,
and rage that your emotions
abduct your composure,
and that it still happens
way too often

a pale of regret,
that it was a lost chance,
the kind that come more infrequent,
and you mourn
the building up inside,
an intolerance for risk taking
which once
was your
most favorite
single characteristic
you liked,
about yourself

-
Plump cherries bloom in red,
In front of them is nature's blood.
Holy liquor, provider of life,
Slowly rots with doubtful eyes.

Down a marcid girl weeps dust,
Her tears of drought carve soil rust.
No sign of life is within view,
In her bed of auburn hue.

Deep beneath, a siren sings,
A haunted tune of sorrow clings.
Let them flourish, let them know,
The red they see is an angel sown.

Six feet down, she’ll try her best,
From her waning pulse to eternal rest.
She’ll pull the roots with all she had,
And let them know to not be scared.

Six feet down, hard she’ll weep,
To not shed dirt but let blue seep.
She’ll bring up life, good or ****,
And let them grow from memory seeds.

Six feet down, is a praying soul,
Hoping they'll see through the cracks and the holes.
Until then, let them know, let them know,
That all that's red is not a life gone cold.
-