Artistic Process

I awoke when the pencil lines met

around the contours of my face.

At first everything was blurry and a bit

strange; until he came into focus.

He shaded my skin, a little harsh at first

’til he smoothed my face gently with soft fingers.

Then the colours, sweeping into one another.

Red lips and brown eyes.

He made me beautiful.

Jewels set around my throat.

Then he scratched lines into my surface;

Dripped red paint over my arms and chest;

Ripped the canvas behind me.

I watched him lovingly

mutilate my figure

And blur my edges.

I loved him until the day he finally

Became bored of me and I was sold,

Wrapped in suffocating plastic

And taken to a dusty hall

where all I can do is hang

and remember

the way he used to look at me.


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