Her world was one crisp yellow sun.
Some days even a white-hot ball in the periwinkle sky.
Periwinkle skies,
Periwinkle eyes-no, cornflower blue,
cheap new jeans that haven't been washed yet.

Antique brown van, no glass in the window-holes,
Making for wind in her face,
Wind on her light rose cheeks,
golden brown skin
which contrasts with her washed-out tangerine flip flops,
dirty and overused.
Pale pink sunsets and sea foam green water.
Her smile was the flash of a photo being taken.

Three drops of ruby red on a pale porcelain tile.
Now Four, Five, too many to count.
Day after day

Sickening sadness,
Disgusting despair,
Vile hatred for oneself
Can take the toll on the most beautiful
And leave just one piece of evidence:
a drop of ruby red on a tangerine flip-flop

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