ThirteenBlankPages.

Sketches

Thirteen blank pages.
Twelve white, one green.
Flipping through distortion and beauty.
Art and memories not so distant.

An unfinished poem.
Incomplete sketches of pain and confessions.
Closed eyes for inspiration.
But visions of black is the only thing envisioned.
On white paper.

Balcony windows with no safety.
Ghosts at every corner of the house.
Nostalgia and Déjà vu.
Sketches, haunted.

Blend of colours, blending to naught.
Ruined ruins.
As the paper grows old.
Its ends coil in, the paint seeps through.
Tattered and torn, but in one piece.

An artwork so magnificent.
In its depreciation.
Perfect.