#because i am forever mesmerized by how blue his eyes can be and how pigmented his lips can be

[xxplastic-cubexx]

i would like to draw him more i think..

[smutty-ki113r]

Red©️

By: me

Damn this made me SOB. My artistic side coming out rn>>>

There is silence in the color white, it blinds in sight and engulfs ears in senselessness. It is the quiet in slow footsteps and holding back a word that fades inward. I have done everything possible to erase myself from white, a mere length of protection after being forced into color. The bleached shade is only vile poison, a splotch of paint that only serves to rip away the noise from the others. I despise it, perhaps because to me it is a blank page or acts as the purity that I was stripped of. Dipping my fingers in every tint of red and tracing them over my skin, coloring over myself so I can never be stained by another again.

Vibrancy fills orange, it rings through a room as uncontrollable laughter and burns tingles on the surface of your throat. It used to be my favorite color when I was a child, at least that’s what I’m told. Now it’s a painful second that I radiate after the lapse of a laugh, the shock of reality that comes with a distraction. A mere smile that I plaster when I make a lewd joke, it’s not even funny, but people laugh at me anyway. Humoring myself at the meaningless of my existence, or at a smart worded sentence I write that nobody will ever see.

There is liveliness in yellow, it moves through the dewy morning as the faint chirp of birds and sticks with candied feeling. There are people who wear it so valiantly, bright and joyful, enveloped in the warmth of the sun; their smile reflecting brightly from the blank of their canine. It blinds when you look at it, but you would give all the blues and purples for the moment of yellow. I wish I could wear lemons and honeys; but I will never be that delightfully sweet, just a spoonful of sour.

The rigidness of Green simmers within me, silent and cold when I feel it, pulsing between every heartbeat. Olive darkness through my skin, colored scarlet but it pumps green. My vision emerald, covering the world in a tint of jealousy at the people who have more, or those who are ignorant. How I long for ignorance, it truly is bliss. Envious at women for being women and men for being men, at the people who don’t need to paint their face to feel like they are enough, at the people who haven’t had to learn right from wrong. Viridescent in a polished shade of bewitchment that only reflects the craving I will never satisfy.

Perhaps I will never reach the vastness of the color blue, but I get near the end. Immersed in the indigo of melancholy and never getting close to the trench of the sea. Alluring in it’s depression that sinks so deep one never wants to leave; for the absolute beauty of rich cobalt that traces in lines down a cheek. Hot as it falls but frigid when it reaches the end of a face. The droplets echoing on the image of the surface of water, disturbing the image. I wish I could be shallow, so that words wouldn’t have to cut as deep. How can one not long for the blue, when it mirrors back the sun and creates the sapphire glimmer in a sorrow wave in joy.

There is no more appeal than in the pain of violet, colored in bruises and fragrant flowers. Holding within it’s hydrangeas and lilacs the interims of life, gradually losing its petals as they dwindle into dullness. Just a temporary grace, nothing lovely lasts forever just like every scar will eventually fade. The purple so rich on the surface until it dims into a lavender, but scars like that will always leave remains. A trace in the shards of amethyst will stay, sharp and excruciating if you brush upon it.

Glowing is the revelation of pink, soothing to the eyes and aching to the heart. Wounding those who risk to give and lose to be given. A pure gamble of roses, blossoming with every stolen breath that constrains as one falls in love. Heavenly music in the shared emotion of anticipation and satisfaction of being complete. Flushed as the beat of your heart palpitates in your ear, a harmonious melody that never seems to stop singing. As heartbreaking as it may be when you lose in the fated game, it’s a shame to stop listening to the symphony of pink that gives and takes breath from all life.

The elegance of black holds safety, it grasps attention so subtle it goes unseen as it blankets the light in it’s cold texture, evokes mystery in it’s uncertainty. I was made darkness, wicked and collided with all the other shades of the wheel. Yet I embrace it, rather than pushing away the only thing that can protect me. Fallen in race before I may even start, so far behind the crowd that it is indistinguishable. Nobody ever sees black until it’s put under a light, irony in its fate. You cannot stain the jet colored shade, all the glancing blotches and disdainful words pass through and you will never see it’s detriment. White is it’s only ruin, and it will only pigment if you are naive enough to let it.

Red is everywhere, it lives within the body and vibrates in the soul, on the hot surface of the core of the earth and the stroke of a ripped rose petal. Fierce as it walks, sashaying across to capture attention and breath, stealing looks of green and touches of blue when it rattles. Valiant in the passion shared in a kiss, sticky stains on the lips of white, staggering against black. Feeding into the fire of rage that burns on my fingertips, sizzling through the lines on my palm and shivering into my heart. It is the only color I have chosen, so I must not let it fade. Stupid in reason as I fail to stop it’s flow, beading at the surface of every line I draw. Falling into this carmine love with scars I trace, so I may never stop seeing it’s rich color; foolish with empty headed thoughts wisped out of thin air that justify my actions. Rambling nonsense about how my lines make me strong, how they let me take back my power when I am so weak I can’t bring myself to stop. Unable to live without them, cursed is the fact that to live I must die first. Dreadful is the ruby’s worth, insatiable to the eye so you can never avert your gaze. Horrid, that scarlet is not without a scar. Made black with the sin of others, dirty yet still untouched. A virgin in sex yet tainted in mind and soul, showering twice a day because I can still feel his hands on me; scrubbing till I’m an itched shade of faded pink because I can still see the imprints of his fingers on my body. The only cure is the cold of the water and the heat of the rage that I leak when I turn the faucet day and day again. Stinging on my tongue as I hold in the cries I wish I could give, burning flakes of spice at the poison he shoved down my throat “for the sake of love”. Avoiding in false promise, the reality of what I do to myself, sacrificing my skin for a sense of control. Painting my lips with the saccharine essense I draw out, wine and cherry flavored with a hint of mental. Rich maturity with a glass of vermillion, a beaming light of swaying love. For red is the color of love, therefore it must be aflame with passion. The hues of orange and yellow burning in unity, colliding in everlasting plight as they flicker into deep cardinal, mesmerizing and spreading through skin and blood. Evoking in soul the appetite of a carnal act or the sleek scar that only leaves behind the trace of the color Red.