I pull the paint
Across the canvas
Watching blood and sunsets
Fall from the dripping stain.
The intricate darkness
Layers of lies
Negative space
So obvious on this medium
So absent from the air.
Dripping,
Diluted
Smearing faces, blurring lines
Dark and light
Too much water
Too little substance.
I painted truth
But somewhere
The faces distorted
Twisted as they dried
Somehow the light I saw
Inflicts darkness.
Like a newborn
It was blank and smooth
With no variations
No bias
But the air
And the water
Skewed its meaning
I recognize it not as my own.
I tear it up
With no remorse
I will not be held accountable
For this mess
For this recognition of my failure.
Written by Erin Acosta
Reflections 