He paints a
picture with a slow precision
Every stroke a product
of
his weighted thoughts
He
drags the brush
across the canvas with a
gasp
and his
breath rushes out
making barely
a whisper
He is an artist who
sits with one
fist
curled
as he captures his
pain
inflicted by the world
From wrist to
elbow he’s lost
deep
in his work
He delves into the
darkness
where his shadows lurk
Each mark is
made in
ink
breathing a soft sigh
The
brush connects
with the canvas
in a deep kiss
There is a
soft
blue glow
just beneath the surface
But
he pays it no mind
so intent on his
purpose
He puts down
his tools
his hunger finally
fed
With a smile he
sees his arms
bathed
all in red