R O T

Painting process 💛

It's all blacked out

And oh baby you're broken glass

-if the wind blows just right you'll hear the train whistle. Your goosebumps are not overreacting

-pretend not to see the things that wash up on the north side of the lake, the smell is just dead fish.

-dogs bring home bones from the fields, you don't go to check what they're from.

-you could have sworn they said the lake was shallow, which way back to the dock?

- ignore the stinking pile of red, it's hunting season

-people learn to drown out the noise. You could almost imagine away the humming, and the croaking and the distant shots and the howls and the breaths. Almost.

-Dead mines spill red dirt like blood. It's been rainy this week- you see him standing in the ditch, you pray to God it's just mud.

Coffe and a happy little sketch

The strings sewn through my very heart

I fear on you- are only just looped through your hair.

You pull, and I follow

Yet if I was to stop in my tracks

You would slip away with barely a wince

And I would suffer

Agony.