Her heart was a canvas
made of glass.
Her mind a palette of colors
that were every shade of Black.
Her emotions like worn out paintbrushes
that ruthlessly painted words
embedding them through the jagged crystals that didn't last.
YOU ARE READING
Void.
RandomPoetry & extracts from books I'll never write. This traumatizing collection of extracts were written when I was 12 - don't say I didn't warn ya'll.
