Prose — She surrendered to the cold ink falling on her tiny mundane body, draping her entirety, tainting her innocuous scars a midnight blue. While a myriad of golden blemishes scintillated, creating galaxies on her skin. Her eyes wore a reflection of charcoal skies that dissolved in tears of cerulean, weeping along silver crevices that were formed when the world was too cruel for her; seeping through ebony cracks and fractures of her bones, patched together by silk threads of imperfection, embellished with acrylic dabs of cosmic crimson; soaking the entire canvas of her soul. She let herself drown in the blue ink that flowed through her dior-stained veins, proliferating into rivers of ancestral structures— the epitome of esoteric beauty; the quintessence of flawed perfection. Drenched in the unfiltered rawness of muliebrity, she became the colour of music, a poetic masterpiece.
