Rose's fingertips caressed the
soft bristles of the brush. The
canvas glared at her, daring
her to ruin its beauty.
She dipped the brush into
a bucket of paint and
tried her best to not shake
her hands.
She held her breath as
she colored in the blazing
sky; puffs of dynamite
filled the canvas from all
corners.
She dropped the brush, let
it tumble out of her fingertips
and onto the new carpet. She could
already hear the landlord's
voice a miles away and into
the future.
She reached up and touched
the canvas.
She just wanted to feel beautiful.
YOU ARE READING
shades of red
Poetrywhen you have too many thorns, all you can do is paint them in red, because, maybe then, they will look like petals [sequel to shades of blue]
