Cream is a color that fills holes in walls, in hearts. Cream spills unto the ground when you pull the refrigerator door too quickly. Cream is the color of her lips as you stare at the scattered stars, such as your mind as you look over and see the most beautiful person in the world. Skin is milky, smooth like cream. When you touch it, sparks fly through you like nothing before.
Cream is the color of her face as she lies in a casket, motionless. As you look over in the car to see that she is no longer alive. To look over and see that she has covered her face in makeup like never before just because she was called ugly the day before at work.
Cream, the consistency of the blood dripping down her makeup caked face. The fact that she ran out of her concealer that was cream and needed to buy more at the store that has cream tiles that make up the ground.
Cream is darkness. No matter how beautiful, minimal, dangerous.
YOU ARE READING
the thoughts in my head
RandomShort Writing is filled with little bits of writing that I do that I am still finding a story frame for. PLEASE do not use as a prompt or copy this, it is just for you to read.
