Maroon.

The colour of autumn.

The colour of onions.

The colour of lipstick.

The colour of vehicles.

The colour of the blood oozing out of his family's throats in result of his knife.

Maroon.

The act of betrayal.

The act of abandonment.

The act of isolation.

The act of stranding.

The act of his schizophrenia turning him into something he never wanted to be.

Maroon.

If only it wasn't such a common colour.

If only it didn't bring back the visual of a bleeding paper cut.

If only it didn't trigger his brain.

If only it didn't bring the incessant need to cut, to see more of it.

If only it didn't cause him to run out of unmarked skin of his own.

Maroon.

Such an innocent colour, but if you look closer, the brightness of the red begins to seep and dry into a darker shade.

Just like blood.