She was an artist
But with a little twist
She painted pictures
On her wrists
She always used red
Never any color
She was an artist
Like no other
She wasn't well know
They didn't care
She was hurting
She couldn't bare
She painted pictures
That no one ever saw
They made fun of her
When she did draw
She was an artist
Didn't you know?
Her heart was as cold as the falling snow
She painted
With a twist
She painted with blood on her wrist
She finally stopped painting.
She was an artist
Her name on the tv screen
She was famous
For the painting that she left on her wrists.
She was an artist
But
She was the artist that left no artwork behind
She was the artist that painted her own skin
With a metal blade.
One day she finally painted
Herself
To death
YOU ARE READING
Shattered Reflections
PoetryThese poems hold the emotions trapped inside my screaming mind These ones are for the broken ones
