I roughly swish my brush drenched in paint Against the once, clean canvas, Now filled with dark, sharp colors
My emotions flow out, through my hands, Onto this chaotic mess I call art.
This art is deep, like the Mariana Trench. Full of mystery and beauty.
Nothing should be beautiful about this art, It is tragic.
I finds the twisted beauty in it.
The art I create.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
PoetryTrigger warning!!!! Almost nothing in here will be happy. After all, that's not a common feeling for me
