I was
used as a canvas today, in an act of
pure narcissism.
I became wounded by her stinging jabs of
vanity, and bled beauty.
Oh,
how crimson it was.
She tickled me with words of joy, written on my ribs,
and deep laughter in my throat.
"She needs to have more color, where are
the words of color?"
The The The
Sunset, sunset, sunset.
"I need to write this before the sunset."
"I need to write this before the sunset."
I need to write this
before
the sunset,
giggling in delight, off a natural high of
bright colors.
She looked,
and smiled at me with satisfaction.
"Now, dance."
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