dirty apartment disheveled with papers
housed the artist going mad with creativity
manically producing and deducing.
he has no time for necessities,
all he has is his art and the deep purple reminders
on his pale, corpselike skin.
every month, he returns.
he's smaller but his mind has expanded,
he has dreamt more in his fitful sleep,
he has made more with his delusional mind.
the artist is carving his way through acryllics and charcoal.
while i stand, observing his alluring abstracts,
i dream of withering away into his curious frame.
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