Your breath caressing the corners of my mind.
Your finger tips pressed against my translucent skin.

My pale blue veins are on display for you to see; strung across my collar bone and chest like lights on a Christmas tree.

I've never been one to self inflict pain, but I've never had a problem letting someone else take the reigns.
In the end it hurts all the same.

& so your lips are like knives on my skin. But it feels so good, the way I bleed out and you breathe me in.

She carved the words into her skin that she couldn't say out loud and she painted murals on her arms that she couldn't draw on paper. Watercolor portraits of blood and tears. She was an artist in the most tragic of ways.