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Description
Parts four of a series of six. Abstract painting/illustrations on the last part of the poem River of Red.

River of Red by Unknown

His passion spent, he sleeps deeply
She turns to face her lover, gingerly, body bruised
She studies him, memorising details
All so familiar, so deeply changed
The face of an angel, blue sky eyes that cloud in rage
Soft cherub lips, once a playground
Lips that used to kiss and smile and laugh
Now always a sneer, spitting out swords
Those hands, solid, capable, dependable
How they used to caress and hold her
She studies their texture; good, strong workers hands
knuckles bruised, caked in blood
She sees no cuts, the blood must be hers
She follows the line of his hips
Nestled limply, his pleasure
It used to be hers too,
the hours she spent worshipping at this altar
Riding waves of pleasure; begging, craving more
Now she tolerates
A battering ram, defiling the softest part of her
Making a mockery of their love
She moves back up to face him once more
Her body screams, she holds back the tears
She calls out his name, a drunken stupor, he's out of her reach
and so she begins to talk
Telling the story of her love for him, her faith in him
The fact that she once would have died for him
and now she's simply dying

(from here is where I illustrated)

She tells him of her pain, the betrayal of that love
She recounts her injuries,
the living hell in which she now resides
And as she talks, her gaze shifts to the soft spot at his throat
Pulsing gently, distracting her, consuming her
She watches this pulse
It is relentless, insistent, the focus of her world
She leans forward, breathes in the animal scent
In her mind's eye, she can taste this pulse flowing into her,
renewing her
Giving back all he has taken from her for so long
She reaches for his knife, irony twisting the broken, bruised lips
Presses the blade to the pulse
and watches the blade disappear within the river of red.

Description
Parts four of a series of six. Abstract painting/illustrations on the last part of the poem River of Red.

River of Red by Unknown

His passion spent, he sleeps deeply
She turns to face her lover, gingerly, body bruised
She studies him, memorising details
All so familiar, so deeply changed
The face of an angel, blue sky eyes that cloud in rage
Soft cherub lips, once a playground
Lips that used to kiss and smile and laugh
Now always a sneer, spitting out swords
Those hands, solid, capable, dependable
How they used to caress and hold her
She studies their texture; good, strong workers hands
knuckles bruised, caked in blood
She sees no cuts, the blood must be hers
She follows the line of his hips
Nestled limply, his pleasure
It used to be hers too,
the hours she spent worshipping at this altar
Riding waves of pleasure; begging, craving more
Now she tolerates
A battering ram, defiling the softest part of her
Making a mockery of their love
She moves back up to face him once more
Her body screams, she holds back the tears
She calls out his name, a drunken stupor, he's out of her reach
and so she begins to talk
Telling the story of her love for him, her faith in him
The fact that she once would have died for him
and now she's simply dying

(from here is where I illustrated)

She tells him of her pain, the betrayal of that love
She recounts her injuries,
the living hell in which she now resides
And as she talks, her gaze shifts to the soft spot at his throat
Pulsing gently, distracting her, consuming her
She watches this pulse
It is relentless, insistent, the focus of her world
She leans forward, breathes in the animal scent
In her mind's eye, she can taste this pulse flowing into her,
renewing her
Giving back all he has taken from her for so long
She reaches for his knife, irony twisting the broken, bruised lips
Presses the blade to the pulse
and watches the blade disappear within the river of red.