(from senior project. can you tell I can't remember titles?)

She was made of neurotic epiphanies of color;
purples twisting down to hiss
with lime along her ribs,
turquoise dyed indigo
in the slowly fading light.

She was a splayed-armed girl,
open-handed crazy,
marked by palmfuls of angry hair;
Medusa-smiling locks
shocked pink and magenta.

She was all-out akimbo;
Chinadoll fine,
but fierce like a knife.

She was blue-veined beauty,
dapple-eyed madness
outlined by scribbled-out sentences;
eyes like circles cut from a tree,
whose rings spoke a different language than age,
but rather strings of fairytales
that only ever began in Egypt,
and only ever spoke of a borrowed umbrella,
a missing belt,
a too-shy kiss she probably forgot.