The Crush of Colors

A simple window, square shoulders,

jaws locked,

yet fury heaves cracked colors.

Spilled guts, color and cover the floor—

crimson,

sapphire, amber guts.

Stillness settles into my chest,

no scream,

stifled by shards of halos.

Spilled light puddles where saints

once stepped,

waves of stomach bile, acid.

Broken silver salts my path, repentance

in the room of moons,

don't skip wounds.

Crimson, sapphire, and gold stain the cold

tiled floor—dusk

will bleach them clean.