His skin was his canvas, oh how he love to paint
He'd swirl and cut
Going deeper and deeper each time
He'd go so deep some would even cry just looking at it
Oh how he loved his art
He was proud of his work
Maybe someday he'd get an award
But he cut to too deep
Slowly fading into a dark and lonely sleep
Forever gone he finally finished his master piece
YOU ARE READING
Close Is Too Far // poetry
PoetryAnd as we lay together in my favorite position; my head against your chest, your arms wrapped around me...I realize that although we're close...we're not close enough "My eyelids are heavy, but my thoughts are heavier."
