(Date unknown)
So this is what it means to be an artist
Pounding the piano keys until my flesh curls away
Like old dried up paper revealing my bones.
Angrily plucking the strings because nobody stays.
Drawings turn dark and the paints mix with blood
As I pour out my heart and spill my guts
They fancy this form of pain, all they see
Is that I make beautiful things when I'm stuck in this rut
YOU ARE READING
Notes
De TodoA glimpse into my mind. These are notes from my phone, starting from 2013 to the present day. My poems, rants, late night thoughts, things I've seen and heard, words I wanted to remember. (Note: There is some content hinting at various mature or tri...
