Is it something I lack? Something I want back? I’m rolling in poison, not feeling the joys in life. Only strife. Struggling to be a good wife, but it’s all gone south, twisted in my mouth, and aching! Ever aching. I’m always fucking shaking while they go on dancing, further enhancing this hate, this gash, the falling ash from a burning heart.
It’s time to start moving on, but ever strong is this jealous limb within my mind.
Why do I do this to myself? Risking heart and health to feed my vanity — one more plastic tragedy has me reeling, just like peeling the flesh to find it’s rotten inside.
It’s done, the pastel dust has settled…and I lost. I learned a lot. Like heavy black lines are NOT always a good idea. A light color will never cover a dark color. Bigger is not better.
Trust your instincts.
The truth is this painting died moments after I sketched it out and outlined it in sharpie. That’s when the itch to draw had been scratched and I remember thinking that the design was too weak to go on. But I spent too much money on the canvases and had no other inspiration calling, and so I plowed on, unhappily, until tonight when at sometime before 8pm I called it.
I’m frustrated still. I hit when I should have stayed and I busted, but can you blame me if I was only at a 16 with this painting?
Does that make sense to anyone else but me?
I’m not posting a picture because in a rage I shoved the pieces out of sight and I’m not ready to look at them again.
I crumble from the heart down
Debris tears of to-do lists and a
Million yeses that should have been no
The Hershey’s and Xanax that taste the same
A broken clock
Sticky note dreams
Glue it together, girl
With that lip gloss I paid too fucking much for