What Black Might Say if it were Granted Lips

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I am deep, dark, endangered,
never going out of style.
Dressing up frail girls for cocktail evenings,
and men for gala events.
I blend in with the cool evenings,
morphing against my backdrop,
of the late, midnight-sprinkled sky.
I stand out against the snow,
as a fluid silhouette,
moving like a shadow.
I embrace the like color around me,
embarking on a sea of both mystery and love,
amidst the sadness in my fate.
I serve as both classy and edgy,
intertwined in a fix of content solitude.
I am simplicity awaiting to be dressed up,
by a spark of pompous color against my canvas.
I may be bleak and dreary,
scary even,
under the right circumstance:
choking out dark alleys,
and forcing those who mill about around me to scrounge for flashlights and the sorts.
I may be lonely and understanding,
closing out the brisk reality and letting in the tentative secrets,
whispered in sacred silence,
I welcome them with no regret.
I am the color of the deepest depths of the world,
pulling you down subtly as you walk all over me.
I am sultry,
I am ambiguous,
I force you to look for the aesthetic beneath my outline.
I am the ending,
or so I have been told,
but personally I would like to think that,
perhaps I am merely the beginning.





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