ThatTypicalGhostBoy

He was just a boy, a boy with no personality; A no face. He looked out over the water color sky, reaching for one of those pastels to paint the surface of flesh, hoping that in one way he would begin to love himself. He was gray for most of his life. Splashes of color staining his skin temporarily, stories waiting to imprint on him. He refused, shut himself inside the dull dungeons inside his mind. He could laugh but no yellow would appear. He would be angry and it would slowly fade into desperation. He decided to make his own color. Using a sharp tongue against his insecurity he licked his skin; Letting out all the red inside to feel color