The Canvas.
Posted by
21st Mar 2018

The Canvas, by Lara T.

The soft beginning of a blank canvas.

My Body.

The flesh surrounding my organs.

Important, vulnerable.

A rose petal so small, so frail, so red.

It lands on my skin and it looks beautiful.

The deep scarlet against the pale white.


I don’t just keep the petal. I shower myself in more.

More of the velvet scarlet on white.

Getting only bigger and covering the canvas in streams of red.

The beautiful patterns make my skin feel alive.

Like fire.

Time will only tell where this will take me.

I become an addict to the red, I must see it. I must see more.

I now bathe myself in petals, my body covered.

I think “good, now I wait, these petals won’t last forever.”

But they do; firstly the deep scarlet fades and leaves a dull red. I don’t like this.

Secondly, the petals turn black.

One by one. Day by day.

Lastly, the petals fall from their place and I praise, so glad to see the wilting, blackened rose petal leave my canvas.

I pause as I realise, this petal has stained the once clean sheet.

I cry.

This is a stain that cannot be removed. It will fade in time, it will not remain forever but for now… I am embarrassed and regretful.

Why did I never appreciate the soft untouched skin before me?

It sweeps me up and my pale fingers clench and claw at the broken sheets of now numb skin.

Where once was my beautiful blank canvas born with opportunity, now lays a bed of defeated and permanent stained glass roses.

Burning and melting, consistently breaking into me, they stay.

But I am still beautiful, I know this deep down…

I still crave and cry for the roses but now I have some control.

I will love my body again.

My body is my art. My art is my story. The story of my life.

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