Red is the blood streaming down my arm, breaking into a myriad of rivulets. It spills from my arm and crashes to the ground below, leaving a contrasting mark in the deep blue carpet. It tingles as it goes; it smells of fresh carnage. It feels like a crimson syrup, and tastes bitter and wet.

Red is my vision, shattered with pain, and as the blade touches my flesh my heart begins to race, pounding with exuberance and agony all at once.

Red is the screaming that is all I can hear. It envelopes me like a crashing ocean wave, abundant with salt that burns my open wounds.

Red is this Hell I live in, a swirling inferno of orange, gold and green.

Red is my pick, as I play my song of desperation on my guitar; strumming, down down up up down, until my fingers are buried in blisters

Red is the inside; everything I can't let out. I try to express my emotions and all that is attained is hurt.

Red is the light that is all I can see, as the screaming continues on inside of my choked mind.

Red are my eyes as I cry myself to sleep, only to dream of the monsters that agitate me inside.

Red is the sky, cloudless and crimson, like God's sinkful of blood.