My artwork is twisted,
dark and deceiving.
I paint on my skin
and carve lines
upon lines.
These lines are hidden,
deep in my soul,
for only I know the pain,
in my heart, a black hole.
The feeling subdues me,
awakening my senses,
and I know the love for me
is treacherous.
//d.f.
YOU ARE READING
Voices
PoetryVoices in my head, that need to be heard. Voices in my head, roam free, like a bird. *Book of poems written by myself.*
