I pick up my brush time and again
The canvas still stained of previous works
Remembering the first, it was difficult then
Now I do the strokes with no quirks
I press the small brush on the canvas
Just like that it traces a fine red line
Repeating the strokes, soo anxious
One after the other, each one defined
My canvas now filled with art
Sight of my work pleases me
It offers me release, such is the heart
For a moment I am blissfully free
The feeling of elation lasts but a moment
The rush of sensation start to vanish
Slowly I'm returned from enjoyment
Another masterpiece, without any lavish
Time and again it leaves me dissatisfied
Every work feels worse than before
My art a tool for me to be gratified
Yet the thrill of the red line seeks more
YOU ARE READING
Dark Emotions
PoetryCollection of poems detailing my dark thoughts. Here I put into writing feelings I can't express. Screams that are unheard.
