Some people paint,
With their brushes of blades,
And thick, fleshy canvas,
And red, pouring stains.
Some people color,
With pencils of punches,
And differing colors of paper,
And blue-purple shades.
Some people dance,
With feet of fire,
And flammable floors,
And blistering, bloody steps.
Some people run,
With knees of nails,
And grated grounds,
And fresh layers of raw dirt.
Four different pains,
Four different ways.
One powerful cry,
One deceitful lie.
A poster gushing with its blue,
Dripping with its red,
Silently screaming its deafening black;
Black that never seems to fade.
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A/N: This has to have been the hardest poem I've written. But it's worth it. Vote if you liked it!
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Expressions
PoetryExpression: The act of making known one's thoughts or feelings. Some people paint their future with raindrops of blood, as loved ones scream for them to drop the brush. But how else can they express themselves? Their pain, their hopelessness, until...
