my flavor is red.

sea salt
came across 
my skin 
leaving a 
burning sensation 
that i felt 
seemed fit. 

you see,
i'm full
of rage 
and not enough 
words to explain 
it. 

i have come to 
the point 
where
i, too,
say that i'm 
not a poet 
just a writer 
with a dream. 

that dream 
turns to nightmares
sometimes, 
and i welcome 
them in my 
deepest of sleep. 

dancing with my demons
as i laugh 
and grin. 

i even fell
in love with one, 
and we made 
love under the clouds
as the thunder rolled on. 

he said that he loved me too. 
i belong 
in the shadows because he 
told me to be
and i found it beautiful 
looking out on the outside. 

a lashing here and there
with my inner self 
and i keep beating myself 
down. i'm almost 
six feet under. 

i look to the sky 
in need of finding an 
angel to sweep me off my feet. 

i pray. 

"can you take mercy on me?"