Colour Blind

The man with the iron shackles
his head painted red
sweat dripping down his cheek
she sat await in dread

he carried the grey slab
the writing etched in stone
the knife had cut in deep
she was no longer alone

the vials stood so tall
the red taller than the blue
strong they both were,
but only one could be true

judgement day had arrived
her fingers trembled in wait
of the inevitable choice
that she would have to make

red, the obvious choise
it could consume her in a blink
the stench of passion and fire
so strong, she ached to drink

the blue, the unknown hue
the acid trip, the heroin drip
easy to enter, hard to leave
she had to take a sip

The queen approached the vials
her gown trailing, her hair astray
ethereal and pale, she glowed
as she walked his way

Her hand shook as she picked
the fate of the rest of her life
Red, blue, red, blue, red, blue
The glasses gleamed in the light

They shook and shook, her fingers
they could not stay still a second
all it took was the blink of an eye
they shattered to the ground
and with it, the queen of hearts
without even a sound..