Memories are shadows I trace in silhouette.
Face unwise, as my right eye glistens in the color of a purplette

I remember all of him, intoxicating as if the air was too thick to breathe in

I prefer, I prefer his hands — when it’s not all wicked and true
He fickled my heart and begged me to subdue

Said these purples in my skin are violets that will wither anew

So I trace his love in violet ink,
As I feel my entire beaten body sink

Oh it’s you, you
That left me with memories so cruel