Fallen women

http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=166671077124&set=a.132163232124.127815.132157057124&theater

she is trapped, her body is presently a present, but an ominous curse, she flirts with her little skirts, winks at cute guys, she is trapped, body as old as time, shaped like an hour glass, no where else can you find, magnificent how she struts in public, a wink and a kiss at her male puppets, name anything she wants and she's got it, amazing sight when she bends over for it, now who is the puppet, it is the consumer, the producer or the abuser, they say we attract our kind well, she is a magnet for fools, thats why she was abused, and she will be always the victim of being used, she is trapped, even beautiful people pay tax, you think beauty is a gift, thick and sweet like black strap molasses, even beautiful people pay taxes, long legs like giraffes, and many says, you deserve what you gets, is your money maker between your legs, long orange hair, wild in the bedroom, screaming top of her lungs with no care, legs in the air, lust in her breath, marshmallow breasts, caramel for skin, reverse cowgirl, up and down like carousel, climaxing, squeezing her skin like braille, unsavory smell, taste of regret after she breaks a sweat, nothing else

Recent Work

In Motion
pen on Somerset
11.25x9.5 inch diptych
2009.

...

By:STACY STRANZL. fine artist.

See More

Share

Pink Butterfly

pink is the colour of my eyes, viewing this pink butterfly, pink is the colour of my hair,short hair don't care, a phoenix soaring in the free air, free from the shackles that society keeps, reaps, painting blindfold not thinking how the portrait is going to hold, so unfold the sheets, release the curtains and breathe life in this portrait, forfeit every emotion let the mind take over, locomotion, spiritual escape, fingers move at a steady pace, slowly choosing colour, blending and mixing, mashing and creating, the creative process is a mystery, like god we can't see but we are at its mercy, so I continue to gaze this portrait with amazement, they say the artists paints the picture, but could it be the portrait painting the artist, the hand brush holding the hand, the colours being chosen, we live to paint or do we paint to live, so we escape, our body a shell, the butterfly is where our soul dwells.

Nightmares

thy, thy, thy, I see nightmares in thy eyes, demise, sickness for you are infected, beneath the bed you sleep I see and I feel your body paralyze, can't move, thy thy thy, i see nightmares in thy eyes, im on the bed paralyzed, some lady devilishly says "thy thy thy i see nightmares in thy eyes", says it again ,and again, poisons my mind like lead, then she carves it on the bed spread, on the bed edge, on the wooden grain, while im helpless in this terrain, shocked from fear, overcome by not pain, but by numbness, im feeling helpless as her voice smothers me with the deadly poem, "thy thy thy", i want to get up, feet up, move up, but can't move, body bruised, chained and handcuffed, can't run muck, lying and sitting their like a skinless duck,like a virgin waiting to get...., i feel a grip on my hand, harder, harder, i can't move, i want to scream, i want to shout, i use all my will to burst into tears, but all i feel is the grip getting tighter, and tighter, harder, paralyzed, as i again hear the voice saying "thy thy, nightmare in thy eyes", im scared, hopeless, helpless, smothered by her eerie voice as it sets the room trembling, the cold air screaming, the hair on my head bleaching, white, as if a ghost, but in spite, im still trying to move, i let out a scream, "AHHH!" i look at the clock, its 6:33, it was a dream,