She feels frustrated with being an artist,
how all artists wanted only to be visible.
Once she had loved color
and the ache of light glinting off a cup,
but now she wanted it to be forever night,
a place in which all of it—light, color—was absent.
And she wanted all the people to be absent,
too. Especially the Artists.
She wished on them an endless night,
where they would have to struggle to be visible
to themselves first, grasping onto their souls like a cup
and trying to fill it with color.