vacant stares and unanswered prayers

purple boy

love interest: what's your favorite color?
my fingertips tapped each helvetica letter, carefully constructing the pronouncement purple.
send
(i was so nervous the wrong words would slip through my red painted lips and fall onto the keyboard).

suddenly, your snow-tinted fingers were placing lavender in my hair
(lavender reminds me of childhood, innocence. ironic).

you dressed me in a tight purple dress. the vulgar material clung to my skin, preventing me from moving without knifes of insecurity stabbing me in the stomach
(you clothed me in this because you wanted me imprisoned in this purple tinted fantasy while in reality your magenta saliva was sliding down her throat).

but the snake housed behind your purple lips hissed flattery,
so i ignored the misery of the wounds
(that dress was my straight jacket. i was going crazy for you).

you showered me in hues of fuchsia. you bathed me in purple paint and whispered in my ear that the color my naked body was emerged in was the same pigment van gogh used on starry night. "because you are a masterpiece."
(starry night does not possess any purple paint).

i was fed pump grapes and gifted a crown of amethyst
(when you turned your head i spit out the grapes, for they were sour and old. the crown lay heavy on my head).

you spread grape jelly on my breasts and licked it off as the moon reigned over the raven sky
(your tongue is a snake and i was addicted to the venom).

as translucent purple painted fingers moved the hands on the clocks and the pages of the calendar, our purple dimmed to a dull heather
(i still believe that time is just a concept. remember the nights where we would ramble about philosophies and conspiracies?).

i sang you ballads. you answered with four syllables at best
(it was despairing and exhausting).

you tore the light bulb from the lamp that was illuminating our purple hued world and threw it at my feet
(your mind is cryptography and abandoned buildings with the lights on. i do not believe i will ever uncover the motivation for this action).

the glass ripped through the flesh of my tattered feet. the blood flooded the tile floor and tears poured down my checks. the blue tint of the tears met the ruby tint of my blood, creating a purple liquid. my blood was purple. my insides were purple. i was purple
(and that scared me to death).

weeks later, a boy with big eyes and dark messy hair witnessed me moaning in pain while you were doing cocaine
(you blame it all on the drugs).

he took me away from the cracked tile floor, carrying me into a wood with a stream. he kissed away the dried blood and placed blue bandages on the source. i told him "thank you", he replied "i love you"
(i thought you were the only one who can say that god forsaken phrase in such a way that my knees go weak).

you saw messy haired boy place his hand on my check and lean in. yet you seem content with losing your purple princess (shock did not run through my veins for you declared i wasn't your only one and only days ago).

you claim you had a hurricane inside you. but disasters are always viewed by the eye of the public (i am not the cause for your suicide attempt).

purple boy, im now not gasping for your purple kiss to bring me back to life. nevertheless, chapped lips still stroke my skin.
(purple boy, i now prefer blue. can't you see how hard it is to say i love you?)