My art is

My art

is

my escape.

 

It is

you.

 

Who

shapes.

 

The

line.

 

My

pen

takes.

 

Today.

 

You.

Made.

Me.

Forget.

 

Why

I

Draw

In the

first

place.

 

Today.

 

You made

me

realise.

 

Why

I

Can’t

Forget

 

Your

Face.

 

My art

is

me

in

your

warm

embrace.

 

I

wish

I

could

show

you

 

the dark

marks

 

the grey

against my palms

 

my fingers

against the page

 

the lines

that

they trace.

 

Everyday.

Late.

 

Into

the night,

 

my hands

fall

 

without

grace.

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