Outcast Of The Class

I am the outcast of the class, chewing on my own words and feeling them fall to the pit of my stomach filled with infants and unborn fetuses. I am your angel without flight. An eyesore. A bedsore. A mouthful. Spitfire with limited fuel. My blood is running deep, my mind is wearing thin. Poked holes in veins and painted on canvas. A pretty picture of rainbows gone red. Face drawn in smiles, but inside are screams. Typical Taurus is Tormented by Terror. Charcoal and fiery blur, stands out and then blends in. A sunset until fading to obscurity, hidden by pale perfect moon. These different shades of this pens dominator. Her pallette of dark.