Stop and repeat. Black swan colour.

Black parts of me, a swan uncovered, contrasting ink I had spilled on my feathers, in my excessive dance, was it a good choice? Thought white was a great bore. I wanted different, coloured deeply, under my skin. My own demon. Starving, famine of my soul, destructive whispers of “love me please” I shall not pronounce.

They say there is beauty in everything, even in darkness, in that darkness I feel whenever you come around. If its effect on me is seen, can only be told by others.

I thought I couldn’t fit, I wanted to. I thought that was the point. I guess I didn’t understand what was the point?

Rock bottom.

I am here, under another light, making the tissue of my appearance shine, the hidden in me be seen, though I will always be…dancing out of control.

The Black Swan.


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