Completed. Poetry. Short story.
Amber was one of the best fine artists in town. Blessed with intelligence, she knew how to make the best use of her talent. Everybody loved her, her and her paintings.
When she was so perfect with her work, praises di...
Her painting was perfect, On us, it had some unearthly effect; All these tones in me I kept Slowly toward my throat, they crept;
It was poison - I knew it, It was burning - I knew every bit; I knew how short-of-breath I became, I was buried under the debris of my fake fame;
When everyone was praising her, I saw how mesmerized everyone were; I couldn't control this burning flame, So, I threw red on her frame.
:::
My eyes narrow and I step back, My figure seems to crack, I turn around and sprint Toward somewhere I don't see any Scarlet tint;
I run and run until I can't, My heart wants to weep as well as rant; Tears blur my vision, As I fall to my knees in a dreadful collision;
It's almost like I'm losing my heartbeat, This feeling pokes more than any defeat; With no traces of any ecstasy My guts reclaim this dormant jealousy.
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Firstly, if you don't get certain lines in the poem, you're free to ask me! How do you like this chapter? Tell me what you think in the comments! Vote, perhaps?
