XVII. GONE
you throw insults at other people so you don't have to throw them directly at yourself.
you mask your insecurities with bad jokes and
your demons come alive on the paper as you draw and erase, draw and erase, draw and erase.
damnit, you think to yourself. a tear spilled onto the paper sheet and now your art is gone.
all that you are ( demons // art ) is gone.
-- you never allowed me to look through your drawings and now i think i know why.
YOU ARE READING
SAVE ME // POETRY & PROSE
Poesía❝ONCE MY DEMONS ARE GONE, SO AM I❞ nikki [ middlenarnias ] july, 21st 2O16
