I associate you with red.
Red- violent, daredevil, reckless;
All the things that you are
Not; you introverted, shy,
submissive soul, you; all mild blush and pink lips,
like cherry blossoms falling five centimetres per second;
artificial of course, whose stems were made from
metal wire, like a wire cutter in my mind
slicing the flesh; always leaving a bloody mess, you.
Don’t know if I want to
kiss your patched, swollen lips
or stab you, to stem the flow of redness