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I hate red  
The crimson  
in the cuts,  
hidden in sleeves.  

Ending it now  
with full conviction;  
Hopeless of being convince on,  
dialed one last call.  

Nostalgic voice:  
a girl;  
This will not be the last sentence,  
she is a semicolon.  

All these years   
I never knew,  
we are only  
a line apart.  

These feeling are red  
She is a prism.  
inside me:  
A carnival of colors.  

Your name,  
a warm insomnia;  
Your number  
and a suicide hotline,  

Is it Pavlov at work,  
you rang the bell,  
in a flourishing fondness,  
I loved red.  

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