Dried Portraits. Ulises Vargas January 26, 2026. Today’s soulmate is not today’s wife. Today’s crush is tomorrow’s filth. Till disillusionment do us part. To that gorgeous muse of min:, I painted you nicely last night— all warm and tender— and I etched the most calligraphic sign. To that same bitch monster: you wasted my time. I spent hours lost— so lost— in your portrait. So many hours deluded, believing your beauty epitomous. So many hours encapsulated in the enamored picture sat in the disgraced shadows of my mind’s gallery. To that muse subsequent: you are no different. I am no different. Pose, and stay still. This won’t take long. Shine that smile for me. That’s it. Just like that. You are my everything. You are my magnum opus. Aren’t you so pretty? Are...
The pen is my vulnerability. Mutual secrets line my writing. The poetry collection, “abstraction.”, is my most thorough yet. Check out abstraction.