RISKY BUSINESS

I knew it was risky; I wouldn’t be able to keep away
Like a junkie, standing at the window, an outsider
Needing to use, to be part of, my body craved the paint
The way an addict craves the juice—don’t ask me
How I know—I know—I have, I guess you could say
Intimate knowledge, and it is fearsome, this craving
This ache to take up the brush again, after so long

Every minute I spent there, not walking away
Just staring at the tubes of colour—magnolia, viridian
carnelian—and fresh white spotless canvases, displayed
Laid out like stretchers as if placed there just for me—
Carried me closer to going on one of my sprees

And deny as I might—and believe me, there was some
Desperate denying dancing around inside my head—
I could still leave anytime—really, just turn on
My heel and go—some part of me knew
That my reserves were eking away and once gone
So would I be—gone that is—lost to the god of art
Again.

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