Painting in petals of the past

Stalk as dry as her cracking brittle bones
Scraping at the corners of the air,
Scratching the rim of the replacement vase.
The cold shiny steel sucking the stained roses red bloodless life.
Their fragile state holds time
Moves place.
The transient shadow cast on the new greying wall wavers hitting cold damp air,
Floating through dimmed window shattered plate, pane of glass,
Bladed past.
One petal remains.
Hanging on as if clinging to some purity lost in new found innocence.
White overpowered by sordid bleeding blight.
These roses are old and belong to a different me.
There is a pink to the grisly rain and these emblems need to run free.
The petals in my palm shiver on the wind as they scatter into the swirling sea.
The earth takes on a new form
Painting patters of pain that is, that are, too pretty to see.
Sinking deeper and darker the gentle flash fades away.
Waves of pleasure hit and eb and flow in new found ecstasy of my lost found mind.

Portrait of me with tear in blue (whatever that means) ready for later destruction

I wrote my destiny in patchwork..

I do not expect to be a mother by Tracey Emin 2002

The way we think of ourselves, the way we present ourselves, the way we make oursleves... It is like being trapped. Stuck in the world of our lives. It is fear.  Fear of the unexpected or the softening of oneself, of love or change. Fear of it turning out differently. This life we write for ourselves ... is it some kind of prison?

nymph

Magical water worker
Sex charger
Water flowing
Stone carved, stone cracking
Damaged goods
Dancing, swaying, mystic, singing
Ancient ruin
Priceless precious, sacred serephn
Breastless beauty, battered body.

Danger calling
Throbbig fountain
Limbless lines, frustration forms
Forceless force, shrine of sins.
Bloodless breatg
Col hard palour
Deep delusions, historic amour.

She who knows more years than man
Earths craetion, trancendent crown...
Twining round the men she holds
Nothing more than lovers old
Stark hard light hits her hard
No more bleeding, veinless aims.

Eyes who watch don't understand this is a princess, goddess crowned...
One of three a middle ground
Triad, trinity, triplets then
Seperate from us mortal men
What she is is free from flam.

Carved by some long gone hand
There remains element in sand.
A grain of wonder a wasted world
Wistful glance at whisperng land.

What we know is nothing as of yet
This monument a mark of knowledge, hopes and dreams.