Though We Both Shed Red

My soul spills in iridescence, with colors that track the moon. Soft and heavy voices alike whisper, “what magic is there that exists that surrounds me with this vessel?”.

A curse I may sometimes believe it to be, but in my writing I shed honesty. And the truth is, we’re not all alike, our blood all stains red but our souls do not lay down at night the same way, some spirits are restless, tirelessly waiting for life to breathe into them.

And yes, we all see the same sky but who is it that truly forms where our perspectives lie? And some souls are heavy. Heaving through life, and if they could not exist, they’d promise you they wouldn’t. It is a tale we tell ourselves, that we are all the same; too afraid to look into the airy mist, we simply rely on blood stains.