painter (tronnor ; completed)

track 4 - cliff

connor

for every recovery
patient, there's a
moment that set
them over. for
some people, it's
the realization of
the never ending
c c  e
  y l
of days.
others fall to having
nothing and no one.

we're all standing on a
c l i f f .
and at any moment we
can walk off.

i feel off. i fucking jumped.

and i took my hope with
me.

it drowned at the bottom
of the sea.

now all i have is me.

but i'm ripping at the seams.

my painting today
is of the ocean.
of it crashing into
cliffs. the water is
not blue but black.
the sky is grey.

i did not want to
use blue. i'm
growing to hate
the colour.

it's not beautiful,
as usual. nothing
i create is beautiful.
it's ugly like my
emotions.

using a deep
maroon, i turn the
cheap paint into
water colour as
much as possible.

i take the watered          •
paint and drop it           •
onto the grey waves      •
gently. it splashes          •
and spreads into            •
a puddle of pure            •
red.                                   •

of the blood i lost.

it's the only bold
spectrum on the
paper but it is not
what the eye is
drawn to. the eye is
drawn to avoiding
pain.

i hope when i get
out of this place i
am healed. but i
feel like i can't
change myself.
i'm not ready.

i can't paint
anymore. i
take the red
and throw it
against the
wall, wiping
away non-
existent tears.

i get up from the
table and storm
out of the art room.
i run down the hall,
to my beige room.

i turn the corner,
coming face to face
with jim, the program
director. he gives me
a stern look and nods
his head at a boy going
into a room across the hall.

he must be new.
he has messy
brown hair and
jeans on. i can
only see his back.
then he turns around.
his eyes are blue.
but the most
beautiful
blue i have ever
seen its a colour i
will learn to love
and i fall again.
i fall into them.
he thanks jim and his voice rolls over me like a wave. australian and raspy and sad.

bruises cover him and they feel like the pain of hitting the water.

he enters his room
and disappears.

jim gestures for
me to follow him.
he takes me to his
office.

"so we have a new
patient, as you have
seen," he says, taking
a seat at his desk, "i
want him to feel right
at home. i want to get
him to open up."

"of course," i answer,
because that is the
point of this all.

for us to open and spill out emotions

and leave them.

"right," jim says,
his smile falling,
"could you also
spread to the
others not to touch
him? i'll tell as
many as possible,
but i'm going
to need help.
i want troye to
be comfortable."

so his name is t r o y (e).
and he doesn't want to be
touched. i wonder why,
but that is not something
you ask. that's the first rule
of rehab.

but he's
been on
a
c
l
i
f e
f a v s
n a g
d the w ot him.