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now it is there, now it isn’t

she created patterns
some with bold strokes,
her charcoal sliding smoothly
predict of her fingers just right

when she went to fetch colours
feeble ones ran out of the paper-
leaving behind a chaotic art-
a hole here, a vacuum there

she poured paint over it
waited for it dry
when the paper fluttered in air
she inhaled the essence

disorder in an orderly piece
gave her such a high
elation of creating chaos
is better than any drink

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