Cracks and fragments distort my mirrored image, creating the many sides that reside within me - the many sides the world sees.
A jagged piece is cradled in my hand whilst a brush occupies the other, stroking pigments onto a canvas.
Blood rolls down my arm, to which I dip my brush in to colour the canvas once more. Thus, one image of me is created. One side.
One side filled with more life than the many sides of my fractured appearance. The one side I, not the world, see.
YOU ARE READING
Landscape
PoetryYou only hinder yourself by concealing those feelings under a concrete mask. But remember, concrete cracks and I see your unmarred skin that's not tasted the flavour of living. You hide like a guilty thief. You steal away the experience so open y...
