The young artist had found inspiration
yet again.
She walked into her studio with
purpose in mind
Pulled out her canvas, cleaned off her
brushes
And let her imagination take control
She painted X's and O's on her far too
abused canvas
She wrote love up and down, the paint
spilling out,
You see, the little artist had ways of
expressing herself,
Making her feel beautiful in the way
others may feel morbidly scarred.
The young stupid artist spent too much
Time making her scarring art,
Her arms were her canvas and all she
wanted, was to simply feel something.
