I am a lover of red
But then,
There are other reds.
The ones I hate.
The ones whose waves alone are big enough to knock me down
Sure, the term Mean Reds came from a movie
But if you aren’t Tiffany,
Or you aren’t the one having Breakfast at her place
You will think I’m just talking about a color
It doesn’t matter to me what you think anyway
These mean reds are killing me
And when they are killing me
Nothing matters anymore
Not even you
I simply cannot care.
And why?
Because they don’t let me
They don’t let me care
They don’t let me cry
They don’t let me laugh
And worse, they don’t let me talk to you
I hate these reds
The mean ones
I prefer the blues.
With blues,
At least I can come back to me
And you can come back to our bed.
But you understand me, right?
You get me
You get my mean reds
That’s why you are sitting there,
On the floor
With your bare ass
Waiting for them to let me talk to you.
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