broken sparrow
Once upon a time, there lived a formidable painter, noteworthy for the atrocities which would bleed from his paintbrush and onto his canvas. From the kingdom he served that harbored the finest of wines and the fighting of horned beasts, he fled to the city of Krat in search of a new stock of sheep to infiltrate and sink his teeth into. And sink his teeth into Krat he did, as people cried in both anguish and awe at the pieces of the likes of which they've never seen before. They'd spark countless discussions, flooded with both adoration and scorn, but critiques nonetheless. Oh how he loved it, eating it up like a starved beast, for nothing was better than the raw flesh of a person's mind—served before him on a silver platter. To him, art should be of comfort to the disturbed and of disturbance to the comforted.
scarlet spindle
humble sonnet
