POETRY

colors draft

she tasted oddly like scrapes and roses combined. which is why i dig my nails and knuckles into my thighs; of course painting pretty, golden roses on every surface i possibly can. i want to remember her.

it wasn't a surprise every night i watch the blood living on my skin, and check if the roses would ever wash off. but it was beautiful; so was she. so i didnt mind the stained paint brushed on my arms or the constant pain brushing my ivory legs.

we didnt go together. she was a fire red and i was a...navy blue. mix that and you get brown, and browns are never pretty. i never wanted to be brown. reds always disgusted me, but then again, i fell in love with one.

so there were lilacs and baby blues and pastel pinks but none of them came close.

i almost fell with a lilac and i was very close to falling with a baby blue. but they didnt compare.

reds never loved navy's. they just didnt. they lean more towards green, or lighter blues. but never really navy's. so i was useless, just pointless.

i was just pointless.

i bet she threw my thoughts away after we broke the color chart.