There's a girl who makes art.
She goes to a school where she draws and sculpts.
She comes home where a lot more media is in her reach.
She still puts pencil to paper, brush to canvas,
But then the pain overcomes.
Forget the pencil and paint brush, she's got a tool.
That's not it, her canvas changes, too.
Her tool is helpful in many ways,
It used to be what kept her pencils sharp, but that's old.
The tool can come apart and it's used on her new canvas,
Gliding on it's edge,
Sharp and cold.
She places media to canvas and begins,
Creating art that relives worries.
Leaving her mind as the canvas spills it's secret,
The secret that clots.
Pain becomes real but thoughts cease.
She sets down the tool,
Her master piece finished.
She lays back and closes her eyes, hoping to go.
But she comes back,
Awakening to her fucked up life.
The world wants her to stay,
But she's an angle who just wants to die.
~ Aug 30, 2014
YOU ARE READING
She's an angel
PoetryI'm gonna start writing things like poems. I'm not a poet, I'm not even a writer but I need to do this. It'll be my pain, I'll update at random times, just when I need to. They will be how I feel, how I live. And I'm sure there's people out there wh...
