I lather my self in sticky strawberries knowing it is the scent of my sweat they crave.
But being a good girl suites me and who am I to ruin their painting,
They so delicately stroked.
You blend my skin into my bones,
Washing me in oils of peach and rose.
Drowning in the aura of everyone,
You let the wind dry me.
But rain begins to fall,
Collecting the image you thought was perfect,
Each drop revealing the truth you so desperately tried to hide.