moving on

the morbid way.

his judgement etches 

the most brilliant designs;

he loves how he can colour her softly with his praise, 

while his rejection becomes

vivid crimson lines -

caustic cuts bleeding 

the pink from her cheeks, onto the white of 

her soul's confines.

hopefully, when he's done,

he'll sell his newest masterpiece

to the highest bidder - 

for there are new, pure canvases

everyday, walking around, heads down,

for him to coldly consider. 

Author's Note

Not sure if I like this, or not. Do you?

The picture is by Terry Winters; his work is pretty delightful, if you're interested.

Reviews

[AidanTonbridge]

I like it because it made me think. Didn't blow me away... more like pushed me down and made me steep in my own thoughts for a little while. Just my interpretation: we have a serial killer on our hands, but instead of taking lives it seems like he takes the innocence of his naive victims, then leave's them scarred as he presents them back to the world ("world" being a reality that the innocent victims for a while had totally misconceived)

Also, I can't help but picture Dexter as the "him" in this poem :)

Well done.