Smearrrr

“I think you should run away together and get hitched,” the hard pressed Kandinsky whispered to me.

His bright blue mountain carved a red dotted hope in my split sea, Venus had been birthed, as she perpetually had in between my legs,

And trapped; I cannot breathe.

Blue Mountain shifted his attention over to Pearl Earring, her eyes wavering with some sort of longing

And grief.

Yes, I, Venus

Felt the curtains of undead life lift,

That veil of fatal heart death, of gulping

Paints that gush like swallowing whirlpools,

Like a violent, gaping wound that silently

And slowly kills your twisted insides,

As I have been bursted with diluted egg yolks, an underdeveloped dream

As I saw your Pearl Earring tones,

So sorry to be sorry,

So beautiful to be beautiful.

I suddenly told Kandinsky to rightly bugger off,

As the one patron in the British Museum we co-exist in had said to his wife,

Before she burst into tears and ran off,

And Pearl Earring and I shared a ghostly sigh,

And though I felt our mediums moving and mixing across the room even for that one moment,

It dawned on me,

I had a smear on my face,

And it was just an illusion, after-all.