This blue was a different kind today -
deep and dark and not a blue you could
put your hands on but you could
get your teeth into the teal
of it. And if you sniffed hard enough
for nosebleeds, you got a whiff of
This blue was a different kind.
Lapping at my knees and further.
I clutched you for support
as you bared your teeth
made of golden azure and wood.
What became of me back then?
Beneath the surface I am the same
but the bubbling tension
is turquoise ghost fish
nipping at my knees and further.
This soul was a different kind.
heavy pits in my diaphragm.
As sturdy, golden and wooden
as your support.
I flicked through your
lace, created delicately
but damp within the blue;
and that blue is a different kind.
The kind that I'd put
all my malleable hope in to.
Bethan Rees has been published by Three Drops from a Cauldron, Atrium, Amyrillis and Fly on the Wall. She is currently studying an MSc in Creative Writing for Therapeutic Purposes at Metanoia Institute. She can be found on: https://bethandoeswords.wordpress.com.