just brain things.

drawing boy.

Ok so I opened a random page in my little journal for when I'm depressed.

And I found this... quite disturbing poem that I wrote some years ago

Drawing boy

in a place somewhere far,
there was a boy who drew and drew
every weekend he used to draw,
and every monday he had something new

at first he kept the drawings a secret,
they were too personal for others to borrow
he painted them with all of his soul,
and showed through them both hatred and sorrow

even though he loved his drawings,
he never looked at them the same
every minute was a different story,
one minute it could be with glory and another it could be with shame

but then one saturday night,
the week had been too hard
he drew and drew and drew and drew,
and played his one last card

his one last drawing was,
too deep for him to handle
and when the others found him,
they said it was a scandal

in a room with walls so white,
the silence broke with a beep
broken sobs filled the room,
as he fell into his everlasting sleep

that's the story about a boy,
who drew like no one should
his inspirations cried their eyes out,
but the boy was gone for good

don't become a child's inspiration,
it may begin to draw
and that's worse than you could imagine,
worse than any flaw

drip drop, drip drop,
blood on the floor
cut, cut, cut, cut,
the boy is no more

I'm scared of my mind lol.