If Life Doesn't Kill You, Emptiness Will.

Silver Brush

Oh how I love to paint
My hands move with the brush so eloquently
The brush is cold
My only color if paint is crimson red
But it doesn't bother me
Sometimes it stings because I press too hard
But the silver brush doesn't hurt too much
If it did, I'd cry even harder than I do now
When my picture is finished I cry
Because it is remarkable
But people who see it will freak out
And ask me, "What happened?"
And I reply, "A work of art."
They don't understand,
And I am sent to get help
But I continue to use my silver brush,
With my arms and legs
With the crimson red
The razor and my blood

It doesn't hurt