You've taken your brush and painted my tears the color of clear...
Although I am not a canvas, you treated me as if I was, and I was unwillingly modified to your likings.
I'll admit that I was as bland as the empty rarities of some, but I didn't want to be changed - not at all.
You took the sadness of blue and used it on me; now my eyes portray the density and impact of being desolated.
You molded me into your art.
I didn't want to be changed - not at all.
YOU ARE READING
Dear Suicide...
Poetry(#12 in Poetry- 3/5/17 |14 in Poetry- 2/28/17 |23 in Poetry- 11/18/16) Have you ever considered picking up a pen and writing to the one you fear most? Well, that's what I've done. When I write to my fears, It's oddly satisfying, because I know that...
