Randomness (theories, quotes, and stories.)

Red Poetry

     I write and draw with a silver pensil. Paint with a silver paintbrush. It's funny how it all comes out one color, crimson red. I'm the canvas, I'm the paper. Why? Oh becauseI can act when I'm okay until my voices won't leave me alone, so I don't think in those moments. It's too loud to even try. I find it comforting to have someone or some people there all the time. Maybe I'd like a gun it'll end my existence pretty quickly.
     To my friends if you read this, it's not your fault.. It's mine.