White to Black and Red

White to Black and Red

by Bethanie Lee

he watched me

as the tips of my fingers 

traced down to the darkest point

from white to black

accessible. easy.


he craved perfection 

that came in the form of me

pushed to my knees

skinned by rough concrete

again and again,

when he couldn’t find it.

head under the waves

every gasp,

a mocking glimpse of shore

you were smiling,

and all i saw

was a blank canvas

it was so easy to believe

that you were my everything

i touched you

your skin didn’t blister

tell me,

was it possible

to not think of red.

he wielded himself a knife

forged in scorching fire

he told himself, 

it was no longer a tradition

beveled every edge, finally,

to his standard of perfection

forged with his hands,

a bucket of red

poured onto purest of white.

he’s watching her,

one cut was not enough

still, you don’t know

how much you mean to me

look back, one glance,

my fractured fingers

control themselves.

is it the poison on my skin?

fangs that have pierced my flesh?

a hundred chains wrap around my body

he’ll bend his wrist, 

throwing me into a cage

while he’s comforted

by the fragrance of iron 

when he sees my reflection 

painted on the stainless steel of that blade

fingers imprinted on my face, 

a glamorous hue of black

on my colorless cheek.

wishing she knew,

if i told you

they were laughing

if i told you

it was a ruse

would you believe my only truth

used to be you

my own words

engulfed me into a world

plagued with thorns and blood roses

run away, as fast as you can,

i can’t stop seeing red.

until im crying

why me?

until im wishing

i never met him

until im praying,

please, make it stop

if he hadn’t painted

countless layers of red

and called it art

if that black canvas

was only his.

hey, eyes on her

dragging her cape across the mud


 she can still fly.