He left bruises more beautiful and detailed than any artist ever could paint, detailed lines and swirls, Blotches, patches and scratches Marring the pail canvas of my skin I had my own collection of northern-lights from where he pressed to ******* delicate skin Skin tears and dried blood on clothes Everything was grey when he wasn’t around Light dim everything an old movie But when when he was there he light everything up I was color blind and he brought color back But he was two faced Bringing color to my sight, but ******* it from my eyes I was grey But he still called me darling My body was a piece of abstract art, for everyone to gawk at He was the artist who created me He signed me AGD I was a tattered Gray canvas with the Aurora borealis painted on my skin Yet he still called me his little Darling I guess he truly listened to William Faulkner “You must **** your Darlings”
I updated this, and I turned it in as a writing assignment in my WW class.