I can paint a beautiful picture.
But you wanna hear a shocking twist?
My razor is the paintbrush,
And my canvas is my wrist.
The red blood is my paint, flowing down my wrist.
I know life is not perfect
But I hate the life I live, and don't want to exist..
So, I'll keep painting.
Keep painting my beautiful picture.
Till I've run out of paint.
YOU ARE READING
Suicide Poems From A Broken Soul
ŞiirNot for the weak of heart. Even the brightest smiles have the darkest feelings behind them. We all have a story. Happy, sad, angry, paranoid. We all do. Our smiles can be the greatest boundaries between ourselves and everyone else. Our smiles don't...
