Yellow, Yellow

Confident animosity, won’t you let me be a matching accessory to to your awkward smile and self-righteous shoes? Or how about the resonance to your graceful denial and the apathy to your empathy?

Yellow, swirling through my oxygen tainted my thought pattern; made me forget that legs without stockings were dangerous and oh so smooth to touch.

Yellow lost me in its compelling gaze, more hypnotic than a psychedelic haze. Yellow danced with me at the party, sat on my vocals in between the smoke I blew out from my lips.

Yellow wore snake skin pumps, wound its legs around my waist and fucked me through my sixth vodka martini. Yellow had the last laugh, the last shred of my sanity.
©Immortal Illusion


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