The broken artist

Dipping the paintbrush into the groove,
She squinted hard at the canvas,
Trying to visualize ,
Anything but his face
But all she felt
Was the fire that ignited her each cell,
That burned through her veins
When she tore the canvas to shreds
Only to realize she had painted his face,
She stared at the walls
That once held a lot more than just chipped paint,
Then she realized,
All she needed was the right motivation
She went back to the time they kissed,
She placed a bet on herself
That she’d be that artist she once was.
                        – WN

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