Work Text:
Your dark lipstick is wasted on me. It paints my body, giving it an illusion of beauty, the wine coloured stains pressed to pale skin, planting seeds of hope that shall bloom into soft tulips.
You stain my lips with your bitter words, you root around in the mangled pulp of my vulnerability. You are so cruel; yet you pulse through my veins like tar. Every inch of my bent mind yearns for your skin.
All of the sex and lazy hedonism taunts me on restless night, laughing poetry into the air as though the words bear no weight...
The ink trailed off into obscurity, Camilla furrowed her brows at the paper bearing the words she had composed, it was like some bizarre parallel of Narcissus; a reflection of a deep rooted insecurity- too close to the bone.
It was too...personal. "An artist should create beautiful things, but put nothing of his own life into them."
All of the other unread poems had been vague and flowery. Musings of aesthetics. Yet she had allowed herself to bleed onto paper subconsciously.
This was her fault. She was down right intolerable, with her tacky nails and caked on makeup and tendency to slosh drinks on anyone who gave her a wrong look.
She had ruined everything else and now this. The one world Camilla owned, one free from the prying eyes of Charles and the glaringly obvious longing states from Richard and Henry.
She needed to see her, tears were prickling in her eyes. She needed to cling into her.
Hands shaking, she reached for the telephone.