The Artwork of Travis Trium Perfectum
“The pen glides so smooth, yet the words come out so jagged. I kept time by the thoughts that filled up my books. Marking passages and marking flesh. I could only tell time by linking it to emotions and while I dwelled in the diseased ponds of my paragraphs, it still felt like no time...
"You are especially empty and dying to be full. Caring about the things that never mattered and not the ones that pull. Quit testing the fucking waters not being prepared to drown. The days of worth have come and gone and you never made a sound." Here we are on the sixty-sixth minute past the hour of six. I signaled your warning and now you chose to be here and that is very special to me. This isn't for everyone, but it was made for you. Scattering words around combatting all of my unrest until this disorder is through. The......
“I find myself walking down this lonely path, a path I know like the back of my hand. The same hand you begged me to crash into your body repeatedly, leaving digit constellations so beautifully.” I find myself walking down this lonely path, a path I know like the back of my hand. The same...
"They say that time heals all, then why is the second hand cutting me? Reminding me of all the times your hand was in mine and my second hand was only killing time. The closer to death, the closer to life and my second hand was always empty except for this knife." I know what I wield and I know all the words that wield me. Carrying and begging me to take the time that others kill so cowardly. When people say "killing time" it always implies that it is a waste. I'd like to take control of the clock......
“I find it hard to breathe in this world knowing that I am from another. Time and time again, my thoughts born from sin, yet I’ve never had any other.” I’m running low on oxygen, but never on words. My breathing slows. Am I preserving or struggling? If I can find the words to explain...
“Without explanation, without warning the days grow colder, longer. They say these are the moments that will make me better, stronger. Such an unconscious statement by a mind that has never been honest. I have the heart to say when I felt weaker, bleaker and those were my fondest.” There is something hidden deep within...
“I hope my words cradle your fall. You’re sitting in my ribs, writing on my breathing walls. I feel you move, my throat’s a hall. I’m not sure that it’s meaningless, I’m not sure that it’s meaningful.” Your tears rolled down your face without expression, so I handed you some scar tissue to absorb this...
“You may have loved me enough to crush my lungs, but you could never handle the weight of my tongue. My words will weigh you down, but I still have a way with you, even now.” Even in death, I may be removed, but never remissed. The only break I was successful in was in...
“We’ll make the universe a voyeur as I devour you beneath the stars.” As my hunger grew through the last few years, I practiced the art of starving. Suffering for my work is something that I have grown quite comfortable with and has become a mandatory ritual of sorts. Something that many will misunderstand and...
“If all that we are is too many scars, can we stack them until we touch?” I’m not sure if I want to touch your pain or make you hurt. I’m also not sure if there is a difference, but the scars you have painted me with are stacking. Stacking in a way that they...
