Tile Floors

White tile floors once used for mirrored dances,

words streaming in to a hair brush using shower curtains as drapery

My bathroom,

Filled with memories of your sweaty torso hunched over my form pumping for one last stroke while,

raged filled revenge filled salt drops crash onto the floor, my time was just the beginning.

I pulled guns from overstocked shelves searching for oversized wounds that you continuously showed me you deserved.  

Bullet shells in cases, yes cases, awaiting turns to be fired.  I have watched you since our presidents birthday, now, it is Christ's birthday again.

My heart skipping beats with every drawstring bridge we crossed as you hunt for your prey. 

And i watched doorknobs clicking when you so humbly force yourself along with them into their houses,

lungs filled with the substance you call chloroform 

those women unaware of the damage you were causing their bodies, taking the only gift that could never be returned.  I , did not succumb to your trickery.

You generously laid me onto my bed conning to dress and I studied every inch of your figure, 

hating myself for admiring your king of the jungle tattoo 

with teeth sharp as a hunting knife stretched over you shoulder, the handle I grip so tightly lurking over your now useless form waiting to regain consciousness.

Until then, I shall play, carving highway roads and runway lines through the flesh of your hennessey hued body 

and muscles representing gym tan laundry, noticing corners of my lips lifting as the fluid floods from your veins 

a painting Pollack would admire. 

Slowly the sound of pain slip through your lips as you realize your danger, reminiscent of the room you once occupied 

eyes surprised as your gaze locks mine, 

remembering my face, 

I, will forever remember your name. 

My lips made contact with your forehead like you have often done moments before leaving our homes.

I smile at you as I remember an interviewed killer stating, 

"give them one last hop for life, then quickly take it away." 

Without hesitation, my hand glided across you neck. 

my rage escapes, for so long I waited for this moment.

my last thought whispered ever so kindly in your ears as I generously hold your hand 

and you pant for your last breath.  

You should have killed me first. 

Verbal Mayhem

Philly

Mac Miller Missed Calls

Meek Mill Dreams and Nightmares

Bottomless

 

 

This image is one of the first images I did as an undergrad at Rutgers.  Something about the image speaks to me.  It may be the way that each one of the girls are looking straight into the viewers eyes.  It feels like they are trying to reveal something to you but you are unsure what it is.  The way that they stare into your eyes as the viewer gives you the chills but captivates you and makes it hard to look away even though staring feels a bit intrusive.  What do you guys think?

                                                         I Am Woman- Jordan Sparks

Growing Pains

Is it time ?

Today is a difficult day.  The past few months have been difficult as an artist.  I have been at an art cross roads in creating new work.  Not quite sure where I want to go in my work or what I want to show people this year.  I have been simply shooting and developing ideas but they have yet to lead me in any direction.  It is getting closer to the time in my life where my college career in coming to an end and it scares the shit out of me! I want to start really working on major ideas and getting my work out in the public but I have a problem with sharing.  It is apparent that it is time I get over that hump in my life.  Time I become what I claim to be. An artist.