My ink is blood
and sometimes
it can have
tints of rainbows.
I would smile
through the woes,
But don’t you ever read my journal,
Because with you,
I would share anything,
but pain.
I’d laugh like the dawn,
But only the glow do you see.
I don’t want
to tell my story
Because in the end,
you’ll be busy with yours.
So it’s okay,
I’ll keep it to myself
Hoping one day
After a drizzle
There will be no
stains of red.
