Black.

Black tears, but not a plain black. Not like rich black, or true black. They're not black like the void or the abyss. Maybe they're black like space. They're black like oil. Black like a third grader's novelty gel ink pens with too many sparkles. Black like an iridescent beetle that was hunted down, escaped, and then crushed by the edge of the net. Black like a raven pecking alone in the sun but not able to fly, cawing at Edgar but singing for Maya. Black like silk under stage lights. Black like water full of stars. Black like a clean phone screen that won't turn on, that I can see myself in. Black so dark it's blue sometimes, it's gold sometimes. Black that doesn't wish it was pink anymore, or purple or green or blue, because it's already all of those inside and they got so mixed together that you can see them all at once but you also can't see them at all, because they only show up when the light hits just right. Those tears are black.