Pink. It was a color he never enjoyed looking at. He always found it to be putrid. It wasn't good enough to be red so it made up a name pretending to be a real color as far as he was concerned. The name was quite odd and never rolled off his tongue well. His outlook on the color started changing when he started realizing it was becoming his obsession.
Pink ended up taking the form of a young woman with inviting warmth, and curves to run his hands along. He actually enjoyed the sight of her pink locks flowing against the darkness of his fingers when they'd run through them. Whenever they'd kiss it left him starving, craving for more!
Every time he'd gaze upon her he found that he'd never grow tired of seeing that addicting color. He soon came to realizing that this was a drug, and that he'd try to get his high each and every time.
There were times where he came close to pleading to her not to turn out the lights. He wanted to see that lovely shade of passion in the midst. If black fingertips weren't tangling in luscious pink quills then they were in the pink of the sheets.
Eventually it started rolling off his tongue real nicely. He had even changed to pink lemonade from plain old black coffee so he could savor that sweet yet bitter flavor.
He had found pink to be a relentless merciless beast that had him crawling back to, and begging for it to color his world.
Though he hated it… He wanted more pink in his life…