The witch's jug.
This is my most recent artwork. A traditional still life in pastels.
And a short poem.
In cold wind, she lie in wait,
with big eyes, glassy and sweet.
A young girl with a demonic holy,
pale skin, red lips and naked body.
From a bitter dance she's born,
Spelling everything around.
In the hair has darkness lumps,
but her heart in fire thumps.
In the room crosses and stars
turned into painting's scars.
Frames are from animal bone
her mistakes wasn't atone.
In a corner just the stalk,
and the oldest scrawled jug.
-A.
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