Love from the inside

You’re a lover of beauty, but I absolutely love it when you draw ugly things. It’s like dissecting through me and tantalizing on the hideousness,
unevenness, asymmetries, quirks, faults and mistakes.
It’s gutting my pain, and somehow finding a hidden rainbow
From splatters of chaotic colors.
I love it when you see it; these bursts of fire red and seeping black blue. I love it when your brush strokes frantically because life just isn’t more. It’s a silly dance that you dance, of anguish and frustrations, but it’s so grand. I know you’re a lover of beauty, but I just love it when your hand’s stained in ink. When the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen rests on a dirty sheet of paper,
when you destroy its face into pieces and see me.

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Dark hallway mission

The voice tells me to get into the elevator and to go to a certain floor. I do so as told. Instinct tells me to walk down the hallway. There’s promise of a grand prize; the greatest thing, the highest goal. There’s supposed to be something that I’ve always wanted at the finish. I’m told to open the door. I do so.
And there you stand, behind that door
wearing a black and white tuxedo. Your chiseled face looking even sharper against the shadows. Your creamy skin and shiny hair, contrasting each other. Your glass-like eyes, contracting in the spotlight directed at you.
You are fully attentive and looking at me,
but with a look of worry. Wordlessly, you give a notion that you want me back, that you’re begging for me now. That you’re willing to disregard everything for me and that I could too, for you.
But there’s something unkind, untrustworthy, and cold about this whole new setup. There’s doubt brewing in my gut.
There’s an uneven tune playing in my ears.
And there’s a sad, tragic, unstoppable feeling,
that I wished it were true.

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