Everyone thought she was an artist
But they didn't know
Her paintbrush is her blade
And her canvass is her body.
YOU ARE READING
Carved Soul
PoetryThey run wild every night Plaguing my young mind Demanding to be freed Something was once long lost buried. Collections of poems.
Art
Everyone thought she was an artist
But they didn't know
Her paintbrush is her blade
And her canvass is her body.
