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How a painter sees the world |
| The slow strumming of a guitar like the music box stuck inside my head filling me with inspiration An inky window the polar opposite but exact replica of the blank canvas on my gesso stained table The silver footrest shining like my paint-speckled palette knife basking in the excitement of new creation Black, plastic armrests like glass bead paste creating bumps along my smooth skin from the chill of each opening door The orange dotted screen flashing the time and where we're headed the dots in a pointillism plan of my life Streaks of light flash outside the window blending with the night sky as my brush blends within my routine The dim, fluorescent lights filling the bus as the fog that fills my mind when I tire The coins being emptied in the paybox like the swirling, murky water of thoughts into my dreams |