the artist is gone.

the artist is gone.

she did it,

she finally died

in her sleep, in the night,

like we always hoped.

It doesn’t feel real yet,

that the artist,

the survivor,

the women who struggled so hard to fight

such a savage disease,

is now gone

gone

gone.

Thank god, we labeled the paintings

before she left.

Why didn’t I capitalize that?

Maybe, because she never did…

The artist is gone,

she left while her cat was still in her bed,

and her family was around her,

and my grandfather told her she could go.

The artist is gone.

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