Unrequited

It’s the color I see when I look into her eyes,

The color I see when I look up into the night sky.

It’s the color I feel standing there, knowing she’ll never be mine.

The color I so well know, having written cliché poems all my life.

It’s the color of fingertips so cold in the ice,

It’s the color of my veins, those I so desperately want to slice.

It’s the color of the plastic cups I have sitting on my desk,

It’s the color of the salty waters, those that never rest.

But then again, it’s the color of the floor of the room

The color flecked onto the leather belt, the broom,

The color I know I felt taking my breath,

The color I knew would bring me to my death.

It’s the color I see on sleepless, restless nights

The color I see those days I spent blocking out all the lights.

It’s the color I feel standing there, knowing she’ll never be mine.

The color I so well know, having written cliché poems all my life.