Last night I cut myself
Not with a razor
But with a paint brush
The way the cool blues made my skin feel
Is almost
Undescribable
I will never forget the way the brush tickles my skin
Lightly waving it over my wrist
They way the reds made me feel at home
They reminded me of a time where
Everything was dark
But I was trying to grasp onto this light
It was an imaginary feeling
Called
Hope
But I stopped believing in imaginary friends a long
Long time ago
So now the paint brush is my only friend
YOU ARE READING
Poetry For The Hurt And Loved
PoëzieHello, Chris here welcome to my collection of poems. I love them... Mostly but thank you for reading hope your having a good day. Drink some water stay safe gb. 🐖
