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of lead and paint

i tried to mix a perfect hue
that bled true of the pictures and
prose twirling in my head
but instead, i fed the bleak canvas
a sullen, sad lead from which i
attempted to raise from the dead
some sort of thread that i could
wind around my finger,
pulling tightly, but of course
you can’t really mend a frayed end
especially when whatever
was in the pocket of the mind,
refuses to come out or let anything in
or to let anyone find it, so it blends
into the shadows, absorbing the night
leaving me with writer’s block,
an artistic slump, staring
into the pallid face of a white canvas
wondering what could be said,
of the things turning in my head

written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: denial

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