a glop of paint

As I was cleaning out my paint tray of paint and peeling the dried acrylic, I was lost in thought. Not thinking of anything particular but just almost lucid, but when I looked down I noticed I had rolled it into a heart shape ball. One look and I thought "Somehow this glop of paint left over looks like what my heart has felt this past year..."

The black showing the decay of where my heart was shot out, the purple where the bruising is trying to heal, the white from stretch marks of trying to hold onto itself in order not to rip apart. But it was and the decay has harden and molded to fill what was shot out and keep it in tact of its shape. That deadly blow that still follows within my heart, that pain that moment forever scarred into it...

so symbolic, so true as to how it looks and feel... i felt so connected to this peice of trash that resembles my heart... it is perfect for my coffin, the self one, not the bleeding one. But the one that will take a while to finish. But the heart has been immortalized but the movement of my hand. Photographing it of course with my cell since it was right there, sometimes the smallest way to move on comes even from our self trash. It is beautiful and morbid but it is a part of me. After all I live, breathe and bleed art and now I even mold it.... naturally.