Abstract painting, The softness of the pastel scrapes the skin

abstract painting, The softness of the pastel scrapes the skin, the detailed lines carve the bones, the thick layers of paint peel off, peel off, peel off, peel off, the fibers of the paper stain red, the hatching with crazy shading, a string of tiny dots in the pupil, but they are not numbers, they are not letters, they make no sense, don't look, don't look, don't look, the dead in grisaille, the eye sockets where pigments have settled, the deformities created by the errors of overpainting, the abnormal strength and weakness of the pen pressure, the hoarse voice, noise, noise, noise The soft gradation of the airbrush burns the cheeks, the contour lines keep increasing, the outlines bleed out, the shadows go out, go out, go out, something buried under the layer mask, the cross The hatch tears the skin, tears, tears, the unpainted parts rot, the shadows become abnormally deep, the hesitation of the brushstrokes takes shape, takes, takes, the center of the composition sinks into nothingness, sinks, sinks Distorted vanishing point, out of focus, out of focus, rough texture of scratches, the reflection of the rim light bleeds black, the illusion of depth collapses, the sense of distance is broken, breaks, breaks, fingers reaching out from behind the brushstrokes, not mine, the number of shadows increases, increases, increases, light with no brightness, something feels wrong, something feels wrong, something feels wrong, my gaze shakes, shakes, shakes Don't touch me, don't touch me, don't touch me, but it's too late, it's too late, I'm locked up, locked up, locked up—

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