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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

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