February 24th, 2007
|02:49 am - Oh, my love, so gently breathing, so my heart does softly swell|
My life is your palette. You say that most days I am red and so this what you paint me with. The paint brush slides over my skin and I feel it's bristles harsh against my pores, paint me anything you'd like. I am a mere shell, I am a fresh canvas. The red dye seeps into my skin and I am forever tainted with your touch. I am damaged goods, I think. You assure me that I am ravishing, more beautiful than ever, but I look in your eyes and I know. I know that you have painted me because you do not want any one else to. Does your mind believe that maybe if you paint me red, your harsh, grating bristles will forever mark me as yours? I gaze at my skin, once so beautiful and now the most hideous of colors. Even when I was young, I hated the color red. "Red looks like blood. Red tastes like blood" I would say when someone would say it was the color they fancied the most in the rainbow. I gaze, I wonder if I taste like blood now. I bring my finger to my lips and the harsh copper taste burns like acid against my taste buds. Never wear red nailpolish, it will turn your nails yellow if you leave it on for too long, my mother always said. That is exactly what I did. I left you on too long and I am damaged goods, like I believed all along, tainted beyond repair. My skin matches my heart, yellowed and bruised and left to rot.
An artist of sorts makes his way into my life. He paints my skin the most beautiful colors I have ever seen, pale sky blue and lilac and forest green and aquamarine. He doesn't let his medium flow from the container and straight onto my skin. He makes use of the palette that I have presented him with. He dabs the fine horsehair bristles of his paintbrush into the red paint and applies it onto the backside of my knees. I can't see what he is doing but I feel the red soak into my skin and I feel the same way I felt all that time ago. Damaged goods, my mind won't let me forget. But then I feel him apply more dabs to the same area, apply brush strokes generously to the back of my knees, as I feel the cool wet paint soak into my body. He kisses the back of my knees, and I see that his lips are stained with pink. He has painted me pink, and now his lips are stained of me forever. "I am your creation" I whisper and his pink lips say "You are my masterpiece" as he picks up his brush once more to paint the outline of a red heart upon my breast. "This is how your heart is, and I can see it." He purses his lips and blows his cool air upon the heart to quicken it's drying. The paint of my heart outline has cracked because it is dried out from his breath against my skin. He dabs the paintbrush into the red paint again and fills in the heart with the most beautiful shade of red I had ever laid eyes on. He says "This is what I will do to your heart. I will fill it. I will fill it with love. My love for you will flow like a river and your heart will never crack or be chipped away because I will never let it dry. I will freshen it every day, painting over the foundation I have laid so many times before." And I kiss his pink stained lips with my tearstained ones, and I hold his face into my chest.
I am not your damaged goods anymore. I am a work of art.
Current Music: In Repair by John Mayer
|Date:||February 25th, 2007 04:29 am (UTC)|| |
Me too! Her books are so abstract and almost blurry, if you know what I mean.
I just bought The Hanged Man by her (as well as Realm of Posibility) and I swear...sometimes I think she wrote me into existance, the way she's amazingly perfect at describing me.
|Date:||February 25th, 2007 06:11 pm (UTC)|| |
I feel that way about my favorite music artist, Garth Brooks. You should check out the lyrics to his song, I'll Be The Wind. It amazes me every time, how much it gets me. I'm glad you got a chance to buy Realm of Possibility, tell me what you think of it!