I'm too tired of crying—

I'm a cherry-red mess cuddling upon red-raw memories.

Any second, blood would drip off instead of smoky tears.

What does red have to do with love and pain?

Red mess, red roses;

Red eyes, red lips.

All I know is love blazes your heart and burns it into a dying ember;

It breaks it like a childish promise and builds it to face the fire.

But breaking isn't like burning.

You never forget those memories—your skin's blue in nostalgia.

And then you set everything on fire—you're orange-brown, flickering out.

But crying doesn't help, either.

It transforms aching into breaking

and breaking to burning,

and burning to screaming till death.

But I've had enough crying.

I'm a fragile sunflower trying to stand up,

and get the sunshine.

Only this blue pain has got itself tattooed on my arms:

My only cashmere to wear down all day long;

much like me, I know.