tell me a story-
no no, not with your voice.
tell me with your lips. plant them against the spot on my neck right below my ear and paint me a picture, so vivid that it makes me squirm underneath your hot breath. turn my gasps into oil paintings as bright as the sun on the days we stay in, make the horizon a distant dream. whisper delicately, make me feel the way your heart beats in your rib cage, wild & uncontrollably. you're a masterpiece in the form of a boy, you leave behind a trail of bright paint as your fingertips graze over my skin i am a canvas sprawled out so vulnerably before you, untainted before your touch, you create swirls and strokes along my wrists you press into my curves and add pink to my cheeks- you sprawl black across my heart and tell me you're sorry. everything you do marks itself on to my skin, better paint brushes then razor blades, society can be a cruel place, you're supposed to keep me safe. i open my heart to you, i press paint the color of forgiveness and heartbreak into your hands and tell you to use them wisely.
i am destruction.
destruction is a form of art, too.
-IN WHICH WE ARE ART
[ toxic and tasteful.]
