he can draw a pretty picture,
he'll draw it with a twist.
his paintbrush is a razor,
his canvas is his skin.
he paints his pretty picture,
in a colour that's blood red.
while using his sharp paintbrush,
he finally ends up dead.
his pretty pictures fading,
quite slowy on his skin.
bloods not racing through him,
he can no longer do harm.
you see his mind was a razor,
and his heart was his twist
YOU ARE READING
A Poem For Depression & Love
ŞiirThis is for all the sad ppl, sad boi/girl hours ect... We all feel sad sometimes. And others, heartbroken. But more and more people are being diagnosed with depression and anxiety daily and the getting worse. Please, reach out to someone if you need...
