what you see in me

What do you see in me? A canvas? A sheet? To paint, to fill. Strokes of a rainbow, colouring in the blanks. Promise of excitement, hidden in the red. The promise of freedom, no lines to hold you in; only blanks to fill. Or perhaps simply bones. There’s something intriguing about the past, waiting to be dug up. Like a gravedigger, opening up old scars to match your own, so you ain’t the only ugly one in town.

What do you see in me?

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