Her Painting.

Sunday, November 03, 2013

her brush strokes are too rigid
harsh lines
twirling across the canvas
tendrils reaching the end of the page
stretching 
curling


her face isn't a mask; rather an open book
a peaceful bliss
the corners of her mouth turned up
a silent laugh 
an eternally frozen laugh fighting to break through the barriers of her lips

once the laugh escapes, the picture changes
for her laugh isn't a joyous one; rather a cackle
the colours on her canvas change from pale browns to bright pinks to dark oranges to fiery reds

her hand moves faster
her strokes harsher than ever before
she's ripping the canvas apart
breaking through the restraints 
cutting the strong bonds holding the picture together

finally, release.


(s.n.s)



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