She seemed gloomy these days.
Unsaid words become tears.
Inside she's dying but outside she's smiling.
Can't utter a word even if she wanted to share everything.
Into the vast wilderness she voiced out her pain.
Disregarded by her family and friends.
A canvas made of flesh where sorrows can be unleashed.
Looking at that blank page, an unwanted art is soon to be painted.
The color she picked is likened to the fresh color of blood.
Hand shaking, she passionately held the paintbrush.
Out of the blue, she put it's sharpest point at the empty canvas.
Unable to think, she started to faint, white turned to red.
"Game over!" Her last words.
How come she ended this way?
The sharp razor as her paintbrush.
She laid her own wrist to be her canvas.
