munch
I hated you from the split second I saw you pick up the brush.
I loathed the freckles that lightly dusted your Celtic skin, resented the way your threadbare sweater hung on you, exposing glimpses of the white shirt underneath. I was disgusted by the mottled skin of your forearms and the unruly insult that was your garnet hair. Did no-one introduce you to the simple technology of a disposable razor? Which tramp did you steal your shoes from?
No-one told me that genius preferred lackluster shells. As you confidently swept strokes over the blank canvas, the Midas touch was apparent - everyone watched you in silence. An distorted apple began to take form - oh good grief, not another glorified art student painting abstract stills - might as well post an image of that monstrosity on Facebook for your lesser-minded peers to exalt and adulate. But with a flick of the wrist you rape my expectations.
The apple was malevolently beautiful. It almost had eyes that glinted with dangerous charm - maybe due to the darker palettes you washed it with - this was the very fruit that murdered the lovely Snow White.
Claws emerged and the bloodlust thickened - I want to kill you and bathe in your blood. I hate every single fiber of your smugly talented existence and I long to anoint myself with your rust-scented crimson.
~ hannah p
