Every time she read
it bred
a chemical reaction in her head.
Pigments through her follicles and pores would spread
up from her neck to her split ends and then retread
to cascade down again, thus having bled
into a spectacle that wed
her surface to each literary nuanced shred
of her reaction to a page: so to shed
her inhibitions and her dread
of being seen as who she really was: it pled
her situation like an open book until she went to bed
when every summary and prefatory color fled.
.
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