kindly take your paws off my paint and get your own damn brushes

the crazy person will never buy her own canvas, oh no, she will stretch out used gauze pads over some wire hangers and prop the thing up against a wall.  you take some blood and bleed it onto something and it is suddenly raw poetry.  this is how you make art, girly.

you violate your canvas with a pair of scissors.  you vomit your emotions and rape them with a brush.  you punch out your guts.  you scream.  i can't tell you how many times i have had to get my vocal chords replaced.  however

i can tell you what your art will do to you.  rickety wooden stilts will prop up your head on your brittle neck.  your eye colour will mysteriously leak into the rest of your eyes, as though your irises have been punctured by a needle.  and the sky will glare contemptuously, an infuriating brilliant blue.  the sun, a pinprick of bright anxiety. 

the thin
air will
barely squeeze
through the
cracks of
your tightened
pores.
and you should already know what sleep you will lose.

you cry so hard it's illegal.  you shout at the ocean because it is, and it always will be, more beautiful than you, and there is nothing you can do about it.  you paint a picture.  you throw it away. 

lies like choirs waft in the breeze.
shut your goddamn window.