(no subject)

[priklypineapple]

My hands were soft and graceful.
Beautiful pictures appeared as they carressed the canvas.
The colors were vibrant and alive
As were my hands.
My brush kissed the palette swiftly and gently
At first
But then more carelessly.
The colors began to intermingle.
Their radiance dimmed and dulled
Until suddenly
They were a cesspool of brown.
My hands began to shake from the repetetive motion
And I dropped the brush.
My hands feel broken.
My fingers - crippled.
I've suddenly lost my talent.
I've lost my hands.
My love is forgotten.

I see you looking.
Searching.
Rummaging through the closet.
They aren't there.
No, not under the couch.
No.
Not in the couch.
No, they're not in the kitchen.
They're not in the tv room, the bathroom, or the basement.
Not the attic.
You moron.
They're in the bedroom.
In the sheets.
In the pillow cases.
In the tissues on the floor.
I knew you'd never find them.
You never even knew they were there.
But wait...
If you didn't know they were there before
Then why are you -
Oh.
Your keys.
They're in the car.
Leaving?
Good Riddance.