The smell of yesterday winds its ivy love around my off the hook limbs. I thought about the pretty people and how it might possibly feel to never be blue. Every detail of my life has been undercoated in the colour periwinkle, and I spend my days scratching off a fresh coat of red, yellow, orange and purple. A ritual that does not make me sad, it makes me feel, alive.
There is no question, I will continue to paint my blood and bone a fresh colour, only to scratch it away and when I unearth the periwinkle, I will soak, often for a long time. I might even drown a little. Pretending is putting on armour; do not tell me we are not at war.
Yesterday, I thought about swallowing a lifesaver, the idea amused me. It is funny. If I was born in the 17th Century, I would be burnt as a heretic for the simple act of thinking strangely. Oh but what shock the onlookers would experience, as my colours burn away to reveal my periwinkle.
Some will shout, witch. Some will shout, sky.