Creative Writing


I should have walked to the Tate across sun blazed bridges.
I should have sat cross legged with the Rothkos. In dim light cried small, breath-jagged tears. Dissolving my pigment into their burning edges.
I know worlds precious as ruby, deeper than vermillion, more vivid than carmine.
I want to let go of opacity. Spill out of my love-bruised body. I need to be colour prisming, physics snapping, purest abstract as I negate reality.

Photo by tom coe on Unsplash

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