She had heard of it before, painting with the color red,
Its known to help the tears that shed.
So she picked up a paintbrush,
And pressed it, enough to make it blush.
She pressed a little more,
Then put it back away, hidden in her drawer.
She wanted to paint some more, the next night,
It then became a habit, painting just felt right.
Her eyes began to go bland,
It wasn't something she had planned.
She began to get weak and pale,
Like a withering rose, fragile and frail.
Her mind was just too deep,
And all she could do was paint and weep.
One night, she painted too much,
So the paintbrush fell out of her touch.
The red poured out onto her skin while she laid,
And lying next to her was her paintbrush... her blade.
YOU ARE READING
Teenage Years, Got Me In Tears
PoetryDear Readers, This is a realistic poetry book that I wrote from experience. Most of these poems I wrote when I was going through a hard time in my past because poetry was my escape. It was my way of surviving those rough nights as a teenager. I hope...
