heartpieces

Skin, like memory, vulnerable, marked by scars and time.
The skin we feel, smell, yearn.
Changing and deforming itself but still ours.
Like a map it reveals the story of the human being.
Its folds dragged on with suffering.
The weight of the flesh pouring onto the thought manipulating emotions.

Pink is like sensitivity, sweetness, femininity and warmth.
It’s the colour of emotions.
If it were a scent it would be round and light.
Everything turns around its appearance like a padded vision, perfection.
In reality, perfection doesn’t exist…red reaches as a bother, the deprivation of something and sometimes, the emptying of a body.
We string together our wounds while the soul is pregnant with smiles and tears.
Flesh without a face…it tells our history and the scars are visible only to exceed appearances.

D

zoja