i hung that page to dry

i set said paintbrush to the easel of my flesh and let the flecks of paint speak for the spoken silence in a senseless reverie. and let the silver strands of moonlight dance upon my naked breast as the curtains fell like fireworks fall to the floor as ash. i hung the photograph to dry within the round red room and turned the faucet on to mask the sound of vomiting beyond the door. I rubbed my fingers down the sides of the moist and frigid toilet bowl as the faucet bent like wires bend and sag when meat is hung from them. i scraped off all the wallpaper with shredded fingernails and littered marble and linoleum with shaving-blood drop trails. til all they heard from me was silence like a silent willow tree. as the curtains climbed like fireworks climb through decaying leaves. i hung that page to dry.