Bree Ivy

I ate it all; plastic, diamonds and sugar-coated arsenic as we danced in honey and sea-salt sprinkled laxative. Coral blossomed portraits in Rembrandt light; cheekbones high and fashionable. Snap! goes the moment; a photograph is time travel, like the light of dead stars painting us with their warm, titanic blood. Parasitic kaleidoscopes and psychotropic glow worms stop me dead in my tracks. Aphids sucking the red off a rose, but for beauty I will gladly feed my life into the mouths of rainbows; their technicolor teeth cutting prisms and smiling benevolently on the pallid hue of the working class hero.