Midnight blue

It’s midnight blue
the fire inside your chest
a melting snowstorm
in an aching need
to prove itself.

A withering cry of anger still
lingering on your lips,
like rust on a golden frame;
so boldly out of place,
yet so softly,
so achingly unread.

It’s midnight blue,
the color outside the window
that my nightmares and
daydreams escape through.

Unshifted and unstable,
this cruel desire to 
plant a bush of roses
and then set it on fire,
just to show you
what you’ve committed.
Just to re-illustrate your crime.

I pick my pieces
and I throw them into the
midnight blue.
Careless whether it’s the
night or your coldness
that my weakest self would
ever so slowly
rot inside.

And I rage against
the strings held by
your cold words,
still full of loneliness,
this new self
still held down by
a love she had to carry
on her own. 
Still learning to breathe in
the sunsets,
still mastering the art of
swallowing her own tears,
still wilting,
still muffled by a scream
she could never reach far
deep enough inside her soul
to unleash.
So I ask the darkness to grow
into love and warmth.
And I embrace the emptiness that
should have been filled with an embrace.
And I hold the void that should

have contained a hand.
And I burn.

I burn and become the light. And my flame is no midnight blue,
it’s a kaleidoscopic shade of a hopeful hell.

~ Yomna

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