She began with the basic features, mapping them out tentatively, delicately, lovingly.
Moving into intricate intricacies, precipitation, destruction, humanisation
Progressing onto specifications, a house, village, vast cities.
Staining paper iridescent with beauty, rage, lust
Childhood lore, daemons, faeries, nymphs
Time sails past, seconds, minutes, hours
Her fingers bled with the pressure, her eyes leaking
The room grew stale, pungent, a rotten fruit
Her skin withered, mottled, moth-eaten
The masterpiece was finished.
And it was him.
This is pretty much how horrible it is drawing every day. You feel like you’re bleeding, and slowly rotting away xD
Check out the rest of my poetry here!
Copyright © 2016 Rebecca Sherratt