Bruise

At the moment of impact
I am born,
flushed red as a newborn’s
skin, soft like the inside
of your cheek.
I evolve, aged by colors
not years, a weaving
of misplaced blood and tissue.
The inside of a painting,
rotting peach purple blends
with pupil black,
maturing blue like the lips
of dead bodies .
I am soon middle-aged,
sallow green;
my lifespan riding your pulse
like the crest of a dying wave.

*Erin Barrilleaux is currently a student studying English at Louisiana State University. She is originally from Slidell, Louisiana.