The Art Whore

She called herself the Art Whore.
For she saw art in everything and
anywhere.
The crack in the wall that had been
there since her father had slammed
her head against the wall was art and
she smiled everytime she looked at it.
The smell of Gin left behind by the trails
of men consistently flowing through her
her Soho Loft was indeed art.
You see ladies and gentlemen the
Art Whore...had dreams beyond anyone's
wonder, dreams lost in the vast sea of
souls and sucked in the whirlpool of
forgotten thoughts.

Comments

General Prospero

Nice.

 

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