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A PURPLE VIOLENCE

By Alex Padina



The sky in the north has turned violet. 

Solar storm to blame. 

The dark expanse is now painted in neon lights, 

a palette from the sun's flames. 

But I'm too south tonight. 

Here, the only purple 

lays in my bruises 

and the bitter taste of excuses. 


Purple is a royal colour, 

or so they say. 

But my night is dark 

and my mornings grey. 

And as I unwalk affection, 

suddenly I feel the punching blade. 

Alone, I fear, cometh no aid, 

and there I stand 

stabbed by silence, 

aurora borealis non lucet, 

as I bleed in violet hues. 

I remember the things you all said 

and mutter a silent plea. 

A purple violence 

consuming me. 


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