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Red Is Dead

There is Red laying on the floor

He has bled he is bleeding more

He was hit in the head from behind

You can see parts of his exposed mind

It was a dark night full of pouring rain

Red knew one way to get rid of his pain

He took a metal hammer and hit it in

It went down deep, deep under his skin

Now Red is pouring out on the floor

Red bled until he was Red no more

The scars Red now wears upon his hide

Are not as deep as the scars he wore inside

Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content


This is just kinda my cup of tea.
You know I am from Palestine and your words evokewhat daily goes ther. We are all Red in a way.
And each human is Red in one way or another.
Bitter sweet is your poem.
I really like it.
Thanks for sharing.


Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words
........Robert Frost☺

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Thanks for reading and the nice comment.

author comment

I agree with Rula that we are all Red in some way. The internal pain and scarring is far worse than any physical of the same. In one way or the other, we just want it to stop. Great job.


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