Bright eyed girl
She loves to paint
She smiles at the world
Seems free from hate
The paint is a comfort
The brush is her friend
Its the only thing she knows
Will be there until the end
As she paints her feelings
It all pours out
Its her way of living
All the colors shout
Streaks of paint run down her arms
She thinks that it can do no harm
Hiding behind the papers white gleam
Together they make a deadly team
For here's the secret
She'll always hide
Forever etched
into her mind:
She may be an artist
But this story has a twist
Her paintbrush is a razor
Her canvas is her wrist.
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 1:48 PM UTC
my stomach flutters
my soul shutters
my voice stutters;
this is what you do to me
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC
I can't swim anymore.
The waves are pulling me under,
and I think I am going to let them win.
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 1:35 PM UTC
“The sadness will last forever.”
- Suicide note of Vincent Van Gogh (1853-1890)
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 1:28 PM UTC
I am that dusty book
on the edge of your shelf
that you'd never pick up
and never look through;
surrounded by all those covers
that look better than me.
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 1:22 PM UTC
insanity is using the comfort of a pillow for suffocation
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 11:09 AM UTC