Mask askew
Shaken, torn
I stood in morning light
Mourning innocent times

And then with shake of head
Heart aquiver, took up daubs
Of paint and easel to regain
Lost soul,

that is now
No more
Bled color onto
Canvas ~

Blood on lips, cheeks
Green bile
To match moody
Wild eyes

And other
Hues from
Bottled emotions
Now unstoppered

Let loose
my furies
End product
Mayn’t be true

Of me but
Its cathartic

A saving grace
For me
To survive

One does
What one must
Or get oneself
done in


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