When the canvas asked for her hand back – and a thousand-and-one artistic inclinations pace back and forth forever withstanding all of the crashing noise and inevitably a little less fought with fraught endeavour this particular time – that unerring albeit marvellously matrimonial moment of creative sedation. She walks beneath the insides with her laborious mind for her favourite-best friend. Eagerly necessitates and endlessly abounds, whilst all awhile still appearing to remain wide-screen replicated and altogether reflectively suggestive.
 
Via one concentrated artist’s eyes out on judgemental rent – when it begins to beg and it officially manages to riotously belong… so exceptionally soon as the option falls back upon paying unforeseeable dividends. To no ends, and no ending whatsoever this living, breathing, seething, stinging thing that screams vehemently within – her dancing bones. Champagne, if we might fondly like for its bare naked representation on earth to taste like thunder in the sky.
 
And the masterful call of the colossal canvas may yet still manage at gradually tending specifically toward conversationally mattering almost very nearly, neatly, the most.
Her blessedly kissed, kneeling instances of pure utter pre-fabrication and notwithstanding an eagle-eyed attempt on the inanimate part of her divided heart.
Yes, has to have been the inanimate veins that run a river on thru’ on their lonesome own – until, that is, it takes human-esque shape-and-shadow right by her mind.
To conscientiously forge itself facefirst against. A lack of lit nature outside and imaginatively lit into substitutive demonstration and about to unwind before her very tired, fighting-fit, flitting eyes.
Seems to be that she is a living, seated, over-entitled pre-arrangement set in solvable stone and, inundated, she carries with her all of the powerhouse imagination in the wholewideworld only minus the heartfelt fear unceremoniously felt.
By a million-dozen other equally bestial albeit far lesser exacting artists at play-pretend… They need more of the old positive team-talks within their own violated minds now more than anything.
 
They enviously prey – pray – for the heaven-sent miraculous moments to matrimonially fight with the sight of dilapidating divorce and for it to surprisingly overcome and endlessly cause their goading goals, their unwavering aims to fastidiously amount to all-out wonder.
To a measurement of incredible that can explosively contend with side-stepping the other levels of despondent, unresponsive disdain from which every other try-hard artist shall abhorrently fail – clasping at the flustered weight of their prosaic faces and forever wishing upon a broken-ended dream to happen.
 
Never will. All of this level-headed, never-ending endeavour has to have been relentlessly progressive except, of course, for the growing levels of constant hardship which shall battle involuntarily against the vexing brain, frivilously welcomes itself aimlessly in.
And the reaching, far-reacting, climbing tick-ticking hours shall deliriously announce their poised and poisonous presence again – and resentfully inclined – amid copious cups of stinging, string-along, favourite-best-bean caffeine – inevitably, invitingly, leaning themselves instrumentally toward – A picture-perfect scene of liquid influence aside class-A creation.
 
Of starry-eyed resilience met with complete levels of infrastructural clarity – all of it mindfully devised immediately back inside so soon as these exceptional thoughts manage to gather and make….
 A tidy kind of upside-down sense.
 
The artist wants to create something that shall not be ignored. So, she credibly works fair laboriously amidst all of the snapshotting moments which forever get to creep and crawl and hope. To viciously collide. With the enticing weight of the suspended skyline – undeniably ethereal.
Comfortably cluttered and ceaselessly clashing, the locomotive (pain)tbrush will do its blatant best to eventfully rest – ultimately screeching to a fantastically fanatical point of no known return.
 
She whispers from tirelessly within the bones of said champagne body of Vaudevillian persuasion – wishing, above all else, that she has to have utterly earned it. When to earn it matters the very utmost in her whole wide-eyed world of criminal replication, implemented restraint – the perfected artistic steal of the age-old century amidst an artist’s paint-spattered, quarrelling mind.
 
Coated in unofficial Piccadilly white lies… seems she’s been justifiably resurfacing again and for one first time electrified by the light of a softly seen candle which will bathe, bask and ask to taste the unmatched feel of its beat-back flame against the reemerging features of her relieved face. Immediately right near the whistling winds of an open-glass window-pane.
 
Whispering gleefully, boisterously overhead and about to size itself up to the might of the impending nighttime
Becomings explosively celebratory and ready for everyone else to see –  and all of it whispered rambunctiously within a sacrificial cranium-strain
When a cheating paintbrush cautiously proceeds amidst its chosen source of commonplace adultery
An ocean rains like clockwork crazy – tastes the forbidden clouds of deceitful tumult, lies overhead, climbs till forever lasting, bathing to wrongfully bask with-in hidden treasure’s
Been pushed further beneath a field of liquid dreams..