# “muse”

“if you can’t be the artist, be the art.” \\ she’s got eyes like drops of turpentine and skin like a canvas. \\ watercolour cheeks and palettes for teeth; she is art. \\ she’s as soft as pastels but wild like acrylic. \\ she is the goddess the Greeks forgot to write about; the Beatles song that never made the album; the lost treasure that should, perhaps, stay lost. \\ she’ll paint herself into your dreams, but she can never paint herself pretty. \\ “when you leave, leave me with some kind of mark that you weren’t just my mind playing sick tricks on me.” \\ she is a mosaic of memories; so broken yet so beautiful. \\ stained glass only makes her look holier. \\ she turns paper into origami, all you can do is crumple it. \\ loving her was like burning gold, like fire-engine red, like smokey silver. \\ the first time you saw her blush, was the first time you truly understood how one colour could be so important. \\ she runs her fingertips over your back like they’re the softest brushes you’ve ever known; she makes you feel like a masterpiece. \\ you want to graffiti her lips all over town so people know what danger looks like. \\ “but where do we draw the line between love and lunacy?” \\ she’s got a pencil behind one ear and an eraser behind the other. \\ you’re just a paint spill, a wrong hue, a mistake. \\ don’t kiss her; she’ll leave paint in your hair and a lie on your lips. \\ losing her was like alcohol amber, like lighting-strike white, like raven black. \\” after a while you’ll see, blood looks a lot like red paint.” \\

{A/N- Part 3 of The Girls From Yesterday series.}