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The Body's Hues
my blood pigments the canvas with clearness
my tears varnish it through, glazing my work
my sweat drops in swift strokes but is
my seat taken with some pretty girl? Irked.
her scent wafts through the air, infecting it
her leaked contamination is spread out
her desk, no mine, that is mine albeit
I would be sick, sickened sweet, either route
.
.
.
occasional doodles enter my mind
whenever the urges begin to start
my bright feelings are free to flow behind
her shared heart
my blood pigments her with fever-like blush
my tears varnish us, not good, not bad, strong
my sweat brushes her near forehead yet when I go to
my canvas, something is wrong
the mind is blank
the hands are still
the boat has sank
I can’t… I will
.
.
.
just like an infected ligament
she has been cut off, presently away
sitting there stiff but nearby, the tint
of blood, sweat, and tears are clearly opaque
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