Red, pink, black, blue, white

These are the colours of hurt,
stacked one upon the other;
a confession of cuts and bruises.

Red is the first sting of contusion,
raw and radiant; wounds needing
cauterisation to stem the damage.

Pink is the pain that bleeds out,
pooling beyond the point of impact;
blending flesh with skin and bones.

Black is the darkest tone of cruelty,
disguising everything in its coal;
digging seams of forever sadness.

Blue is the mood, twilight frailty,
a cool response that never lifts;
just sits there brooding dirty steel.

White is bandages bound tight,
nothing seeping through; clean,
hygienic, sterile like no one cares.