My arms wallowed in the paint, the strange colours and odours,

You laid out for me. I tainted myself, sullied, what was mine in your

Matter, detached from the stage of my own choices. I became a drawing

Unknown. Glamourised shades, accomodating you, the fall of me, the resignation

Of my voice that I always deemed to be mine, benign, never to surrender. And you

Solidify me in this toxic colourful claustrophobia, pretending that trauma is expendable,

That sprays can over up anything, devour my solitude in your macabre arms, your

Absent breath on my skin, the narrow lips on my forehead, bursting, screaming, hungry,

As I look into you and what you’re made of. You feel like dead wood that has never come

Across water, earth, fire and sunlight, the air within me, corrupted, trying to perturb

All my mute songs.

800px-Felia_Litvinne_(1860-1936)_by_Alexei_Alexeevich_Harlamoff_(1842-1925)

“Felia Litvinne” by Alexei Harlamov (1840-1925)

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