Painting the Roses Erica Schreiner Vacancy I’m slowing down in my lungs watercolour roses and eggs where I come from Seagulls shout complaints on the other side of life I stand on the edge of a cliff and hold in my hand a knife and breathe in the wind that surrounds me If anyone knew I was missing, they’d try and save me If anyone I’m painting roses with watercolour I’m painting eggs next to them too painting the whole goddamn natural world around me I always preferred cerulean blue I think and I dream: Someday there won’t be such a thing as taxes and someday you’ll come talking to me Someday I’ll run again and my hand won’t be broken and someday I’ll dance on top of the sea Someday I’ll break the Invisible Visible the networks that promise productivity as if that were a higher virtue than freedom and you play along, you all play along but no, not me because I turn it off and sit in my room uninterrupted for hours creating the world I want to see because it doesn’t exist and without it I don’t feel free So, I’m painting roses with a box of watercolors I’m painting the eggs too painting the fruit and everything in the fridge everything I can see everything that reminds me of you I’m painting the skin and the floor I’m painting the walls and the cabinets the bowl that holds the fish I’m painting the ceiling fan with a roller I’m rolling the paint down over the windows I can’t see out, but they can’t see in Can you die from paint seeping into your skin?
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