Colors corrosponding with mood,
I call this one Evening Sky.
Blood boils red with rage,
at even the slightest of glances
towards her refuge.
Eyes mounted upon
the reverse side of her skull,
Waiting.
Dare I.
My frail attempts
at a relationship,
prove fatal.
Her chest puffs,
like a blown balloon.
Nothing new to see here.
Stationary, she feels
most safe at her highest point.
Drugged.
Go to sleep bitch.
No food for you tonight.
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