Bloodlines/Saviour.

so the sketching is incomplete by the artist. she dawdles purposefully, aiding her hope for procrastination, leaving responsibility to linger on into the echo. Gazing upon damaged recollections with slight affection, to console the guilt.

maimed and cursed at for the inadequacy. yet playfully, she toys with their minds fully aware of the power and influence the unfinished product possesses. gracefully, she carves over the previously healed wounds.

blood trickles down her freshly cut wound on her bottom lip. she kisses the blade and slashes the canvas, leaving trails of blood. to no ones' astonishment, it spells out her desire. she lies there like a crumpled heap wearily, the warm taste lingering in her mouth.

despite the overwhelming feeling of loneliness and fear, the self confidence never leaves the realm, where her limitless potential is conjured. as she stands up gaining composure, she grabs the merciless blade; blood visibly dried upon its surface, and plunges it through her palm.

shrills of her voice is heard throughout the spatial volume that surrounds her. and yet she screams not in pain, but to realise that the time for her penance is at an end.

she draws the blade from its flesh encompassed home, and throws it towards the wall where it fastens itself. the blood trails paints the concrete wall leaving lines that represent the now severed veins that gush life. with this, she takes her brush, touching it on the trails, attempts to finish the portrait.

-

plagued by disturbed dreams, she arose as my saviour. while i remain the prince of desolute decadence and decay.

yet she is left in peace not, for she is chained down to prevent my release from my pandemonium of pain. she looks upon me for hope, yet i cannot provide so.

for i have the barriers of many. i tear at my own flesh to seek what i believe i am to possess.

she reaches out to me with ease, yet my hands are weighed down by the weight of millions, of thoughts and desires. i look to redeem myself in her presence, but am prevented by the devil, within me.

release me!

make me re live those moments. await my arrival. i will not leave.

in the rattles of the endless darkness, there is not life, but her.

Take my hand.

and then there was one
who held hands and loved touch
stroked ear lobes to calm
stood shoulder to shoulder

and then there was one
who kissed with pleasure
who touched lips just to feel home
palms on shoulder blades to eliminate proximity

and then there was one
who sat from afar intent on watching
intimidated by the meeting of eyes
sketching a beautiful picture in time

and then there was one
who spoke outwardly, inwardly
studying her feet for an escape
while a musical played in her mind

and then there was one
who moulded into art itself
abstract of a perfectionist in action
yet remained oblivious to the other

and then there was one
whose mirror was imminent and essential
playing to even the little details of self indulgence
and claimed we, and meant i

and then there was her
who killed me with passion
who brought colour and beauty in speech
who loved with no limits
who kissed with love and touched with love
who lay beside me with no qualms
who perfected the art of talking, without words
who bit by bit tore away at my mind
who invaded personal space relentlessly
who guided the light towards me
who perturbs me infinitely

who aided me to transcend

who willingly danced me to euphoria.

now,

take my hand.