One-stroke, two-stroke, three-stroke.
It was livid in my mind as I clustered through the images,
As the painting slowly touches its last piece,
I look down at my knees,
Feeling the bubbling string,
A fish spawns as it splashes out,
Swimming through the open,
With a stroke on the piece of paper,
Passes before my eyes,
Was a deep growling sound,
As the brush felt the breeze,
With every stroke of the paint,
As the fish swims in this colorless water,
Feeling alive with only one touch of color,
Breathing through the fiction,
A lie as it splashes with colors,
But a backstroke fish,
In this ticking midnight,
One-stroke, two-stroke, three-stroke.
As the painting slowly touches its last piece,
With one brush away,
The fish slowly inches away,
Splashing its final touch,
As my meeting finishes its last lines,
Slowly revealing the brownish color,
As the time slowly ticks to midnight.
One-stroke, two-stroke, three-stroke.
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InsomniaTeaS | 09/29/2022