I am an Artist in many ways.
I’ve sketched my death many times now.
It's always just a doodle in the far right corner of the paper - never something
I didn’t even know what it was supposed to be till I finally put the pencil down.
I always cross it out immediately.
I don’t want to draw something like this.
It’s just an idea in the back of my mind that will not go away.
I swear I will never finish the sketch.
I am an Artist in many ways.
I paint over the mistakes till they’re buried under all that paint.
But the canvas will always be tainted with red.
With those ugly mistakes.
And everyone will look at it from afar and see the picture.
But I know what's underneath.
Every time I get close to the canvas I see the red,
But only when I am alone.
If there are people I stand with them and watch from afar.
So distant from my own painting.
I don’t even know if I can ever get closer again.
I don’t know if that's bad.
I am an Artist in many ways.
Always carefully choosing the right ones for the right people.
They say art disturbs the comforted and comforts the disturbed.
So I make the good art for them.
And the bad art for me, because I think I might be the only one that is
and the scars in my mind.
And they all tell a story.
Maybe I do like the red..
Just not the one in the tube.
I am an Artist in many ways.
I get stuck in my stories.
the outside world starts to seem so dull in comparison.
If you put a brighter colour next to a colour that was supposed to already be
bright it will seem dull.
But I think I might be addicted to those shades.
even if the world around the painting now looks black and white.
I don’t think people believe me when I say that I am.
They just see the red when they get closer and I don’t know what to say anymore.