He was my canvas;
My plate of colour.
For blue, I drowned him,
Until his face matched the ocean blue,
For red, I dug blades under his skin
Until his blood ran in streams.
And for purple, I beat
Him
Until his flesh blossomed like the lavender
Scent.
I saw how he flinched
How I plagued his little heart.
But shouldn't he be grateful?
I thought he liked art.
YOU ARE READING
poems Of Boredom
Poetryrandom things I write when I'm bored also cuz I needa update this
