Art and Blood

I watched him from the corner of my eye as he erased on his sketchbook looking frustrated.
“Damn it! That wasn’t supposed to look like that” he muttered to himself. I couldn’t help but giggle a bit.
His head shot up quickly from the book.
“Oh, sorry...sometime I talk to myself when I’m drawing” he apologized.
“It’s fine, what are you drawing?” I asked, making conversation.
“It’s nothing really, it’s just a kind of...” he trailed off passing the sketch book.
It was honestly breathtaking, numerous sketches and drawings.
“You’re really good” I said in complete awe.
“Not really,” he replied shyly, looking away timidly, “but thanks anyway”
As I flicked through the book I was just amazed by the artistry. Then I came to a page of writing, I squinted and read through the words, the red ones make me fly and the blue ones help me fall and I think I blow my brains against the ceiling and as the fragments of my skull begin to fall-fall on your tongue like pixie dust, just think happy thoughts...
The words really caught me, I paused on the page for a long time reading over it. I guess he noticed something had caught my eye as he leaned over.
“You alright, Dakota?” he asked.
“Uh...yeah, just these lyrics...” I stuttered.
“Oh, those...yeah I kind of sing in my spare time...I’m not that good but I like it and it’s a good way to get out stuff” he half-muttered.
“Not any good huh?” I questioned, raising an eyebrow, “just like you’re not that good at drawing?” I stirred. He smiled ruffled his hair, as if embarrassed.
“Well aren’t you going to give me a bit of a demo” I smirked.
“Hell no” he laughed. His laugh was a cute laugh but I sensed some uncomfortableness in it.
“Oh, come on. Who’s going to hear? The hobo?” I teased.
“I’m not good.” He replied, looking distant.
“Ok, if you don’t sing, I will and you don’t want to hear that. Trust me” I said with a smile.