Black

Black is not a color

Black is the awry trajectory
to home every night,
the hues of cut-throat
emotions at 3 a.m.

No, not the little dress you wore
at the 18th birthday party
Black is tearing down the walls
howling and crying afterward
because the bullies are your friends.

Black is the corners
you sit and slit
you bleed from everywhere and
the smell of a sweet release.

Black is the reverberating voice
of a bygone lover that
don't let you sleep.
Of days you live in a crowd
and yet feel so hauntingly alone

Black is not a color
Black is the absence of any color.