Love made me colorblind,
so I couldn't read his color.
He waved his flag at every chance,
and framed every word with reasons.
The flag was always there
it had been always there,
a warning in plain sight
but I saw only green.
Green! ! ! !
Cause I was in love
Because green meant good.
Now, I see the other side of him,
and it's as red as blood.
Definitely not the bright red of roses,
but the dried red of wounds.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem