She is my sister,
but with a crimson filter, and metallic texture.
A family member,
separated by a different shade on our palette.
are two shades, too different.
She's moonshine soaked up on broken lights
with a hint of Jager.
I'm sunlight reflecting on polluted water.
We're similarly opposite.
Yellow and white don't mix to make gold,
but still she's priceless.
We lack sepia but red and brown - blood...
We bleed the same problems;
The only iron in our veins
is words stained with humility.
We sketched into conversations, comfortable.
Drawing on assistance and
painting pictures in situations we'd call difficult.
She's been sipping alcohol
the same way I'd been drunk off of love.
Addiction became the muse of our small talk.
A trail of footsteps traces back memories
of regret, carving pathways of decisions
that branched into roads not taken.
My shoulders have absorbed more of her tears
than umbrellas, soaked under the rain.
I hold the burden when her fake smiles thunder.
I can hear the word no try to climb out
of her chest, but a subtle yes changes her
like how autumn leaves get darker,
and her innocence is tarnished.
I've seen her change from green to yellow,
and yellow to red. Her roots have drank
too much jealousy and anger
for her branches to withstand.
I wonder when her leaves will fall,
and whether I’ll be with her
before her pain withers.