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You're a monster with red hair,
and red blood, and red skin with
thick smoke shooting from your red ears,
and fake fire bursting from your red mane.
You're a monster that makes the red rain,
black with my blood and my blue pain,
purple with anger that I turn on myself.
You're a red monster with red hate...
and your red rubs off on my pink heart,
till it fills my pale, white skin,
and I'm covered in your red rage,
because all you can see is red,
and it all makes me a quiet, grey insane.
---
R had red hair, and whenever he got angry, all of his skin would flush with red. He reminded me of an angry child because he'd hold his breath (and I could just imagine smoke/steam shooting out of his ears like a cartoon (ok, yes, I imagined my x-husband as a cartoon at times... it helped me to... get through a lot of the fights because it helped me to stay calm)) and throw his fists down and his skin would go bright red. It's interesting because after three years, his hair had gone a light blonde, and my body hair had gone auburn instead of brown. It's almost as if I took the red from his hair because I sucked up all the rage he pointed at me and I just buried it inside of me to try and quell it... so it came out in my hair.
---------------------------
The hinges swing, creaking and shuddering -
the smoke streaks in, to suffocate the mice
as he hides in the corner of his plastic vice.
Running in circles when the smoke creeps in
to hush it back into the darkness, "please".
And deaf ears can only hear the whispers
that bounce from his bent whiskers, know,
this dream will clear with the fog, and sink.
The nightmares are near.
Of sudden crashes and thunder classes,
till the roof of his house falls to his frail,
wire-like, tired and nigh-catchable body.
No wheels or shredded newspaper
to soften the blow of this catastrophe
that he put himself into a time ago
when humans catch tiny creatures and
forget them inside their cages till time
and life starves the last from their breath.
---
I once caught a mouse in R's kitchen and we were going to keep it and feed it (I wanted to catch him and his mate and see if I could breed them and maybe have real pet mice like my pet rats I had in grade school). We kept him in a plastic tub and gave him the dishes the squirrel (Spaz) wasn't using. I had gone somewhere for a day or two, fed the mouse before I left, and I came home and the mouse was dead. R acted like it was nothing important because it was an animal, but I was distraught because I had named in a week before (I named him Jerry after the mouse from Tom and Jerry). His blatant negligence to animals was something that I felt transferred over to our relationship - in that he withheld love, food, sleep, and medical care. I feel like the mouse and I have a few things in common... and I still feel sorry and guilty that if I had been home, he wouldn't have died.
--------------------------
Copywrite Soulconstance aka Quin aka Me.
and red blood, and red skin with
thick smoke shooting from your red ears,
and fake fire bursting from your red mane.
You're a monster that makes the red rain,
black with my blood and my blue pain,
purple with anger that I turn on myself.
You're a red monster with red hate...
and your red rubs off on my pink heart,
till it fills my pale, white skin,
and I'm covered in your red rage,
because all you can see is red,
and it all makes me a quiet, grey insane.
---
R had red hair, and whenever he got angry, all of his skin would flush with red. He reminded me of an angry child because he'd hold his breath (and I could just imagine smoke/steam shooting out of his ears like a cartoon (ok, yes, I imagined my x-husband as a cartoon at times... it helped me to... get through a lot of the fights because it helped me to stay calm)) and throw his fists down and his skin would go bright red. It's interesting because after three years, his hair had gone a light blonde, and my body hair had gone auburn instead of brown. It's almost as if I took the red from his hair because I sucked up all the rage he pointed at me and I just buried it inside of me to try and quell it... so it came out in my hair.
---------------------------
The hinges swing, creaking and shuddering -
the smoke streaks in, to suffocate the mice
as he hides in the corner of his plastic vice.
Running in circles when the smoke creeps in
to hush it back into the darkness, "please".
And deaf ears can only hear the whispers
that bounce from his bent whiskers, know,
this dream will clear with the fog, and sink.
The nightmares are near.
Of sudden crashes and thunder classes,
till the roof of his house falls to his frail,
wire-like, tired and nigh-catchable body.
No wheels or shredded newspaper
to soften the blow of this catastrophe
that he put himself into a time ago
when humans catch tiny creatures and
forget them inside their cages till time
and life starves the last from their breath.
---
I once caught a mouse in R's kitchen and we were going to keep it and feed it (I wanted to catch him and his mate and see if I could breed them and maybe have real pet mice like my pet rats I had in grade school). We kept him in a plastic tub and gave him the dishes the squirrel (Spaz) wasn't using. I had gone somewhere for a day or two, fed the mouse before I left, and I came home and the mouse was dead. R acted like it was nothing important because it was an animal, but I was distraught because I had named in a week before (I named him Jerry after the mouse from Tom and Jerry). His blatant negligence to animals was something that I felt transferred over to our relationship - in that he withheld love, food, sleep, and medical care. I feel like the mouse and I have a few things in common... and I still feel sorry and guilty that if I had been home, he wouldn't have died.
--------------------------
Copywrite Soulconstance aka Quin aka Me.
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Trigger Warning
Warning: Some of my poetry and prose may be triggering. I write just about as much about survivor issues as I do about love.
Please keep yourself safe.
Please keep yourself safe.
