May 31, 2025
You take your brush and paint me in your image. You use the vibrant indigo with a hint of yellow. You want to make a flower out of my crooked head you said.
You took my chin on your warm blooded hands. Gripped it to pull my bare face closer to you. You tilt your head and stare a hole in my eyes. You murmur I need technicolour red.
You turn your back to me, who have hands tied to hundreds of string hanging from your uncouth ceiling. You reach your tainted fingers towards an unearthly orange.
You smile so endearingly with a twinkle around your dark eyes. You mumble I just need a little tweak, a minor adjustment. You stain my lips in the unearthly colour.
I am a flower you greatly admire. An ephemeral you tremendously desire. My whimper do not reach you. My art do not amuse you. But I am your art.
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