She (part 2)

She blows the smoke from her lips bruised hard from the process The process of pursuing  and being pursued Every bone aching to be loved she threw her self as a canvas Some were artists some were otherwise Strokes of blood red and black across her body  Like contours of a world slowly crumbling She blows the smoke from her nose that slowly has lost track of smells Smells of ~ Strangers she had had in unknown lands Leftover remnants left behind by women who gave up too soon She ashes the burning cigarette into the night, this night This night truth revealed itself in his snores She was a pencil stroke fighting to make her mark on- before the fore play  and after the aftermath But she wasnt dark enough to be noticed She stubs the dying light into the pores of her skin This mark will stay. ~ Ray