labias, and, other, still, life, paintings

The day

the world opened

God

regarded

us all.


This

Beautiful

Passionate

Being

gazed upon us...

We
were
paintings...

all sorts of artforms...

some of us

were Michaelangelos...

full of form and structure

born from

etched calm

detailed

craft...

some of us

were Jackson Pollocks...

messy

and bloody sweaty teary

and exploding off the canvasses...

and others

were Klimts...

or Picassos...

or Miros

or Eschers...

every single piece...

and
every
other...

was

masterful...

gorgeous...

But

later

that night

we, these paintings,

tried

to

take

away

the

life

of each other...

to destroy

the dark one

or the watercolour one

or the small one

or the red one...

ones in the heavy frame...

each claiming

to be loved more by God

The next day...

God awoke

walked into the gallery

with feet as soft and gentle as a labia...

saw the torn creations

on the floor

ripped

from the loving walls...

and wept.