Ⅰ.
Her paintings often worried people
outstretched hands and cooing voice
“Are you alright?”
“It comes and goes in waves”
You see, that was her specialty
Composing masterpieces out of emotional turmoil

Ⅱ.
The Artist found her new muse within the heart of a Bibliophile
Stacks of books bowing the wood on a stained white bookshelf
Her favorite; a black bound Salvador Dali collective
Ribbon bookmark frayed by the teeth of an orange kitten
The bibliophile’s face filled the Artist’s sketchbook pages
The finest work of art in her mind’s eye

Ⅲ.
She fills the bad nights with smoking good **** and drinking cheap liquor
Her feet touch the floor for the first time in 3 days
Hair knotted and joints crackling
Empty pizza boxes litter the floor of her studio
Blank canvas next to dried paint
“****** up attracts ****** up” she said, paint scraper in hand,
How ironic the Artist cuts herself with her tools

Ⅵ.
She remembers how they made love on a mattress without a frame
Fingers brush across bodies leaving behind colors of flushed skin
Like an anatomical paint-by-number
They breathe smoke into each other’s lungs
The Bibliophile said “You are my favorite drug.”
A deadly mix of *******, *****, and marijuana
“You keep me on my toes and put me on my *** all at the same time.”

Ⅴ.
She squeezes her thighs into stretch denim
Attempting an imitation of normal
The Artist stares distantly at the blinding white of blank pages
The thoughts of the Bibliophile tickle her amygdala
Begging to run rampant across canvas
Time heals all wounds
She calls bull-****.