He's an artist
But not the kind you would think
He doesn't use paint just a razor blade and his wrists
And he's not proud of his work
Just ashamed and disappointed
He is his own canvas
His scars are his work of art
All of his work dwells on his heart
All of this horrific pain
For one worthless gain
YOU ARE READING
Words That Speak
PoetryI want you to be able to feel me through your body. This is how you can.
