Red The word is out. It’s all in the news. It’s that black and white despite all the things you knew. You might think you know you knew the true man but that flag appeared and you saw that damn man. Blind in truth to think his flag is red. It’s the primary rare, it’s the black and the blue, the bloody pair of that chomp comp smack attack of that sick pair chewing through. Bare bones of drama it’s that anger and despair. you flipped the page and page after page then my page became read when your interest bled red. it is the red, he read in bed, with another shade of you he dare say red while he shed silk red.. naked magenta moon light believes in the midnight pools of yellow mix fleshy tricks confirming the fool. Picked a card to a fool, the monstrosity fool, tarot yields the tool, reds now blue cool. Who knows the cry but silent scream old yeller in the red fern field shot just to know where it grows. Flags to make that magenta blood sky high in the midnight sky look red. Sewn across the villages that partook in all the privallages of his cute red personal stitches the cross stitches. snitches get stitch’s or half mast up the pole we belay to stay with death on aisles of the poor fools on display. Almost convinced, damn near convincing, he’s wincing the latch hook and the crocodile crook that he was a man. But what was read was red, pages turned blood red, to what was read was said in the page to page black and white red he bled. Tag your the fool, tag you lost your cool, tag you now lost who will save you from that Stitched red flag. You lost, bled red. That cost, bled red. That page to page red flag you thought you knew. Bled red.
