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Description
Straight from Mad Dame's Diary the day I made this in January.

The Skeleton Boy

"Your guard slowly shifts as my quirky nerves start to calm. I am jittery and ecstatic, you have chosen to come spend this quiet time in my creative control. Chose this to become the artist and the muse.

Keeping calm starting to breathe, in time, being completely intuitive to your needs, although I can hear and feel your every thought, I gathered enough composure to concentrate on the art upon your body, rather than our yearning desires.
After I finally found my comfortable enabler, I continue painting your body with my bare hands. To feel more connected to my muse and practice - for the first time - a broken down barrier of intimacy between subjects.

I feel your deep breaths, you close your eyes and feel my quivering breath as you feel me slowly grab your wrists and feel your heart beat with my little finger. I hold your arms tightly gripped but more to study your body of where the next stroke should go.
You let me touch your body, you let me explore and you watch my eyes as they scale you and disappear into another world.
I for once, have patience and refuse to hurry.
I want to embrace this prolonged body art creation session. I just want you to see and feel me close to you, being as real as I truly am, with no guards up, just you and me, exposed and real.

I have started to follow paint along your cheekbones, and you sense my ever closeness. I am breathing in your exhaled breathe and I can taste your scent. Sometimes when you watch me, you make me blush. You have your eyes closed as I gently run my middle finger down your face. To which the room spins suddenly and I finally answer your calls for a kiss. I look hard into your eyes before I cover you lips in paint. My finger tips are dripping with paint around your neck and your intangible desire, to have the smallest encounter with my lips is made.
I would be prepared to smudge and deconstruct all the hours of hard work, just to peruse a harder incontrollable sensation of passion of merging your painted bones into my freshly worn dress. It is only this moment I care for than any finished art work that marks this moment.

Painting bones upon your skin and building your desire for your artist - was the act of art itself. Painting you, alone, sharing it only for our own space as the most realistic art practise I have ever felt passion for in a very long time. I refuse to let it go, so easily. If you refuse the moment and deny me - I will own this moment forever and never share a single drop of its existence…"

- as it read but since you fucked me around - fuck you get fucked.

I am not afraid of baring my soul, who I am and how I feel. Cross me, you get this as a result.

I hold too much respect for other peoples feelings. I am always willing to take in anyones pain and hurt and swallow it for you. I hold TOO much inside, this is my ART and this is my life and fuck anyone who think they can come into my space, into my world, look me in the eye and give me bullshit.
I don't give a fuck where anyone comes from, truth and honesty is something I hold high in value and if you can't relay that in your pitiful lives, then you don't deserve anything that was coming to you. If ANYONE ever crosses me again like I have had in the past 12 months I will not care for your mutual feelings ANYMORE, and I dare not let your paths cross in my ventures. I don't care about anyone who is dishonest, I have a fucking dishful of you fuckers that I know about and when you piss me off next I'm going to tell you what i think and I do not care who is watching or knows.
Fuck you,
Get fucked.
Good luck in your low life lame artistic endeavours.
Don't walk into my life for even a blink.

Description
Straight from Mad Dame's Diary the day I made this in January.

The Skeleton Boy

"Your guard slowly shifts as my quirky nerves start to calm. I am jittery and ecstatic, you have chosen to come spend this quiet time in my creative control. Chose this to become the artist and the muse.

Keeping calm starting to breathe, in time, being completely intuitive to your needs, although I can hear and feel your every thought, I gathered enough composure to concentrate on the art upon your body, rather than our yearning desires.
After I finally found my comfortable enabler, I continue painting your body with my bare hands. To feel more connected to my muse and practice - for the first time - a broken down barrier of intimacy between subjects.

I feel your deep breaths, you close your eyes and feel my quivering breath as you feel me slowly grab your wrists and feel your heart beat with my little finger. I hold your arms tightly gripped but more to study your body of where the next stroke should go.
You let me touch your body, you let me explore and you watch my eyes as they scale you and disappear into another world.
I for once, have patience and refuse to hurry.
I want to embrace this prolonged body art creation session. I just want you to see and feel me close to you, being as real as I truly am, with no guards up, just you and me, exposed and real.

I have started to follow paint along your cheekbones, and you sense my ever closeness. I am breathing in your exhaled breathe and I can taste your scent. Sometimes when you watch me, you make me blush. You have your eyes closed as I gently run my middle finger down your face. To which the room spins suddenly and I finally answer your calls for a kiss. I look hard into your eyes before I cover you lips in paint. My finger tips are dripping with paint around your neck and your intangible desire, to have the smallest encounter with my lips is made.
I would be prepared to smudge and deconstruct all the hours of hard work, just to peruse a harder incontrollable sensation of passion of merging your painted bones into my freshly worn dress. It is only this moment I care for than any finished art work that marks this moment.

Painting bones upon your skin and building your desire for your artist - was the act of art itself. Painting you, alone, sharing it only for our own space as the most realistic art practise I have ever felt passion for in a very long time. I refuse to let it go, so easily. If you refuse the moment and deny me - I will own this moment forever and never share a single drop of its existence…"

- as it read but since you fucked me around - fuck you get fucked.

I am not afraid of baring my soul, who I am and how I feel. Cross me, you get this as a result.

I hold too much respect for other peoples feelings. I am always willing to take in anyones pain and hurt and swallow it for you. I hold TOO much inside, this is my ART and this is my life and fuck anyone who think they can come into my space, into my world, look me in the eye and give me bullshit.
I don't give a fuck where anyone comes from, truth and honesty is something I hold high in value and if you can't relay that in your pitiful lives, then you don't deserve anything that was coming to you. If ANYONE ever crosses me again like I have had in the past 12 months I will not care for your mutual feelings ANYMORE, and I dare not let your paths cross in my ventures. I don't care about anyone who is dishonest, I have a fucking dishful of you fuckers that I know about and when you piss me off next I'm going to tell you what i think and I do not care who is watching or knows.
Fuck you,
Get fucked.
Good luck in your low life lame artistic endeavours.
Don't walk into my life for even a blink.