Flash Fiction July, 14 The bag of paint tubes rustles in my hand, a second bag with brushes and primer and varnish rattling on my wrist as I scrabble for the key. I've finally paid off the apartment, and I get to redecorate the entire place to my liking now. It's beautiful, but always been… Continue reading Abstraction
you fancy yourself an artist, painting portraits. go on, paint me - is that meant to be me? look away, i have a knife in my pocket and the canvas hangs at my eye-level. i see how it is. you are angered at how easy it is for me to destroy your perception of me.
It's a typical day. That is, my alarm blares awake, siren-like (I still haven't figured out how to make the noise something quieter) and it startles me enough that I half-fall out of bed. Coffee and mail, that's the routine. Some time ago I acquired a travel mug so I wouldn't have to remain undercaffeinated… Continue reading And A Dog Named Bob
canvas thick with paint dreams hang immortalized, yet still too delicate.
She combs on mascara Tilting her head this way and that. Smudge of dark eyeliner, appreciate how Skin seems to pale in contrast. Shimmer of gloss Fuss with hair, tugging, trimming strays Smoothing into place. Add hand-cream, Touch up nail polish. This is morning routine. She blames society, half-heartedly, for seductive Shelves of glossy cosmetics… Continue reading Sculpture