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.