Minimum wage men With $200 dollar shoes And minimum wage women Expecting $300 bags From them. I remember telling my last girlfriend "WELL... SHIT! . . YOU SAID WE WEREN'T GOING TO BUY EACH OTHER ANYTHING FOR CHRISTMAS! WHY'D YOU BUY ME THIS!!! " She cried And on the 26th I bought her a crystal Necklace on twine From a Mexican swapmeet And ice cream Sandwiches. I mouth off so much at work All day Sometimes I think I'm Trying To get canned. The higher ups seem Entertained by it. I've seen the guys That sweat Panic And dream of sales Get fired. While I stand in the bathroom Writing poems. I do feel bad about Not putting effort Into IT. But I figure... There are more Humane traps Out there.
I work with a guy a year younger than me Got two kids And two jobs. Meanwhile all my money goes to Whitewater rafting and books And weed And paying for school. One of them is two years old The other four months And he doesn't read. Probably doesn't go whitewater rafting Either.
work.
Author: kneedleknees
0
Date: 05/04/2020
№ 1208494
The artist at work
I don't draw anymore I have pencils on the floor and doodles on my door Doodles of the past when I would push Shoving the door shut as barricades turned to mush I don't draw anymore I used to sing for you on my bedroom floor "Don't let them ruin my core" Although you didn't respond I'd still draw for you and sit by the pond I don't draw anymore Can passion derive from pain? Even when you're considered "crazy" and I'm "sane" I still think about when we would draw together You weren't very good, but you assured me forever I don't draw anymore We couldn't afford oils but I was okay with pastels On my birthday you could tell I would use chalk While you and I would talk Scratching against the pavement
Today I drive in silence With no song to calm me down. The only radio playing Is a hole within a hole. The DJ is a martyr And the music's harsh and cold, But my mind is far away from here With someone I could not hold.
I look through my cracked windscreen At the rain thats pouring down And ghosts driving on the highway To some forgotten town. My fuel is running empty But still my engine drones. My mind is far away from here With someone I could not hold.
I am not a work of art. I don't have that much beauty in me to help me create one. I've always wanted something that might help me with my works. Whispering trees, mocking buildings, silent pavements, weary soil; everything that used to work simply drives me numb now. Being too absorbed into my works for these past few months, I failed to notice a change so near that pretty much sparked me.
Who needs trees with their leaves of wire under the smoking mid-day sun to inspire your art if your standard of beauty lies near to you?
My sweetheart had a beautiful long hair, it went under his shoulder and always managed to fall graciously like confounded summer leaves. The temperate air would sometimes brush it away from his face instead of his own two hands. My hair is short, dry, and plump. Hanging like a rope up to my chin only. One of the sole reason his hair is the thing I started to cherished the most, and had started to become my favorite object to paint. I still can see the shine glimmering strand by strand; framing his smile in a grotesque manner.
My sweetheart had a long, beautiful hair. It was a pity he did not like it as much as I did, despite taking care of it in the best way possible. I can still remember the unsettling shadow whenever he looked down and was darkened by the dim complexion of his soft raven hair. Always the peculiar inspiration to my art. He was a work of art, an original beauty.
My sweetheart had a breathtaking long hair, it had been an oblivious month or two since the last time I saw him, before isolating myself with tons of faded colors. His long hair ignited me, but gradually it tortured me, tossing me unimaginable fear for I could not paint it in its natural beauty. All I could think of was:
I might ruin beauty.
What a shame, I was filled with spirit before being frustrated all over again.
My sweetheart had a heartbreaking long hair, which he promised to cut sooner or later. My sweetheart had a melancholic long hair, a beautiful thing that led us to a mouthful argument and rough doublespeak. He shouldn't have planned to cut it, I practically begged him to not to. I am lost within my mind, how am I supposed to continue working if the only thing that I was trying to paint went away?
I had a sweetheart who had a gorgeous long hair and I was a selfish imbecile and a stray soul.
I wouldn't bear a single thoughts of seeing him without the dark curtains wrapping his head like the parlor of an old fortune teller.
How am I supposed to work with him?
The only things I have are these empty canvases, paint in the colors of tears, and paintbrush.
Paintbrushes,
Gather your material, prepare for the bristles. It could be made of various materials, Animal hair, Such as: Horse hair, from the mane and the tail, Or any other kind of animals with long hair, Needle trees and grasses, Synthetic hair, Human hair.
Second, prepare the handle of your brush. Bamboos, sticks from one's own yard are recommended, For a professional look, we suggest doweling.
Next, select a strong adhesive to attach the bristle to the handle. You would have to spread the adhesive glue to the tip of the handle and attach it with the bristle.
After that, wait for the glue to dry before you carry on to the next step. Find a strong material like metal or rope to bind the handle and the bristle together.
And there you have your home-made personal brush.
Despite making it in a rush and on a drunken heart, I pretty much loved the result.
If only you did not argue to cut your hair. If only I could think clearly, better than this, I could still see my sweetheart's eloquent long hair in its most proper and beautiful form, to ignite my heart even more. Not in the form of this crappy, hellbound paintbrush I made myself in the most abhorrence manner.
I should not have gnashed your head to the tip of my easel after you told me your little desire of having a shorter hair, I should not have been that ill-tempered, overflowing your head with warm red liquid.
Ah well, My sweetheart had a beautiful long hair and a fresh thick blood. At least I would still have the chance to work with him though I can see him no longer. I have his soft hair attached onto my paintbrush, giving me the wildest dream, And his blood in the color of blooming red Chrysanthemum, It should not have happened, But what could be better than this?
