There are some people
Who try to help
They tell me I'm beautiful
When never seeing
The demon that dwells
Inside of me
Or the scars of the past
That I do not regret
They tell me I'm perfect
And have to stay
When they don't know me
Or my art gallery
My art
I love making art
Painting with unusual things
I have glass and lighters and knives
But I love the razor best
All of the art in my gallery
Is a sparkeling red
A deep and dark color
That I have become acustomed to
And you'll never guess
Where this gallery is?
Sh, it's a secret
It's on my arm.
YOU ARE READING
Inside The Mind of A Harmer
Thơ caPoems about my life and my issues. *TRIGGER WARNING*