The drawings That I draw,
no one sees at all,
not with papers or pens,
but razors and skin,
the scarlet color weeps out of the slashed line across my wrist,
letting it gently cover the bathroom floor is an instinct,
head titled back absorbing the bizzarley good feeling,
slowly the unbearable pain that always ruins the moment,
leaving my clothes on with my drawings on display I slip into my bed,
until another day...
