"this isn't art." they said, they didn't understand,
i cry as crimson paint drips from the blade in my hand,
yet maybe they are right, i begin to think,
the skin on my wrists turns from red to pink,
a hold a pencil in my healing, tranquil hand,
and begin to draw, with possibilities unplanned.
- m.o
Dec 29, 2016
Dec 29, 2016 at 5:16 PM UTC