"D-Do you want to t-talk about it?" Charlie asked quietly.
"No, let's just focus on the painting."
I spun the paint brush in between
my fingers, letting my anger drown
itself through the bristles and endless
stream of paint."Charlie, do you know what the word
satelliciosis
means?""No, wh-what does satelliciosis mean?" He raised
an eyebrow, letting the word bounce
off his tongue."It's a noun," I dipped the brush into the
paint bucket, "it means the feeling of being trapped
in a body that spins across the world while the
colors merge seamlessly in front of your eyes
—as your fingertips reach out to feel the
chair beside you, the string hanging from
your sleeve, to remind the hidden annex littered
with blanketed thoughts to not swim away from you,
to give you sanity,
to remind the world that you aren't just another
star in the sky.""That s-single word m-meant all of that?"
"Mhm, and what about fleurbeau?" I looked up
at Charlie to see him shake his head no.
"It's an adjective. It's a term used to describe
someone who is beautiful like a
rose kissed red,
yet tainted with the sly smiles on their faces,
dry with hopeless cuts on their backs;
one who is wasted on the alcohol dripping
from their fingertips and the bottle
hanging by their lips,
who lets in beautiful clouds in their lungs
yet someone who can also mesmerize humans
as they flip through the pages of dusty books,
screaming innocence inside their eyes,
deceiving the foolish into believing that
they can be loved, that they are loved.""I think y-you're just making up words now."
"Aren't all words made up?"
Charlie walked up to me and took
the brush from my hand.
"I think t-the paint's f-fumes are getting
to your head. Let's t-take a break,"
Charlie winked.Frustrated with the world around me,
I sat down on the couch in the garage and
let out a long awaited release of anger."I'm just lost, Charlie. I don't know
what's going on, and I'm scared. I feel like
I'm just stuck in a motion, just waiting to be jolted
back into reality because this all feels like
a nightmare."
YOU ARE READING
shades of red
Poetrywhen you have too many thorns, all you can do is paint them in red, because, maybe then, they will look like petals [sequel to shades of blue]