The Rainbow Doesn't Last Forever

Red is the color of the sun as it rises, warm and spreading across his face.

Blue is the color of his eyes, the same as yours, as he looks up to you with pride.

Green is the color of the grass, new and innocent, flourishing in the sun.

Yellow is the color of the flowers his mother arranges on the kitchen table, beautiful and bold.

But today he learned that the rainbow doesn't last forever.

 

Red is the color of your eyes when you come home high in the middle of the night.

Blue is the color of the bruise you gave his mother after too many drinks and a heated fight.

Green is the color of the money you don't have to pay the bills, and the weed you bought instead.

But today he learned that his father isn't someone to look up to anymore, the pride is dead.

 

Red is the color of the cuts on your face as you're pushed into the backseat of a police car.

Blue is the color of lights that flash on his brother's face, the one who will grow up without you.

But today he learned that maybe it's better to not have a father, than to have one like you.

 

Red is the color of his words, desperate and angry, yearning to understand.

But today he learned that you are his father, but you would never again be his dad.

 

The rainbow is gone, but the memories of the pain live on in the absence of the colors you stole.

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