bitter amnesia.
"you are the brush."
,she will tell her ink stained fingers.
"you
will remember the feeling of pulsing music going through your torso.
the way lashes feel on your cheek. porcelain skin and molten eyes. bony
fingers and sprawled jeweled stars."
flashback memories travel
through branched veins and pulse through fingers with agitation, making
the elegant strokes look like his voice,
the blends of colors, his bones.
her
eyes are shining like small pieces of the moon because once again, she
may have something other than broken up memories to remember him by.
they flow through her onto canvas.
soothing words.
joking stories.
laughter.
until her cruel mind decides to destroy what’s left of him. her flowing brush strokes are turning into morbid splatters.
stinging words.
nightmare tales.
screams.
his gentle smile changing into a drunken scowl.
straining
to grasp it momentarily and it stops. she is left with mocking words
staring back at her, she once again painted what she does not want to
remember.
The blooming bruises of muddy purple and unforgivable, irrational pain.
She has once again painted the real him.
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Synopsis
this is a prose/poetry piece written in the clouds above Poland. it describes some abuse.
A Word from the Writer
okay. I'm sorry, I don't like capitals when I write. just like a favorite poet of mine I find it bumpy and it ruins the flow for some reason. I am a grammar freak though. just not with capitals. I'm sorry.
this was written on the plane to Poland. inspired by Bailey Elizabeth and some of my shuffled music.
I am not a depressing person. o.o
It is just easy to write depressing things.
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