Well, at least she was honest with me.
I wrote this certain poem for a certain someone a while ago when I thought things were alright. Apparently, that was all in my head. It seems like a lot is in my head.
It's really funny looking back at how I felt and how disproportional it is to how I feel now. At least I get to drop out of the play. There's no use in that anymore.
Well, those pills are in the bathroom drawer somewhere. Better go find them.
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I wove this canvas. I crushed these berries to make paint. The wounds won't scar from when I picked the thorn bush for them. It was only a scrape at the time. Now it's infected and spreading.
The image is in my head. Everyone's encouraging me to bring it to life. They know what it will look like. It this is no abstract painting. They're waiting. I'm waitng.
I've sat in front of this spread for two months. The background is grey and neutral. It still lacks the primary colors.
I never learned to paint them. I don't like figuring things out on my own.
But I want it to be perfect. I won't settle for anything less.
I guess when you leave something for too long, eventually it rots.
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ae
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