She was in her bed,
With the lights switched off.
She listened to her music playing under her pillow;
Her wet, damp pillow.
She thought about what she should've done in the past,
What she wants to do in the future,
And what she's doing in the present.
She clenched her fists,
Fighting the urge to grab her paintbrush,
And paint on her canvas.
She tossed and turned,
Wondering...
Does she really want to do this?
She wipes her tears,
Breathes heavily,
And drags herself off her bed.
She opens her drawer and searches for her paintbrush.
She lays back in bed,
Takes a deep breathe in and holds it.
She slashes the canvas,
knowing it'll burn.
The paintbrush; a razor,
The canvas; her body.
