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drew-vincentPoems
Slowly, the brush caresses my skin. The bristles feel soft and comforting as they slide across my wrist. Electricity surges throughout my body, the crying finally ceases, the bad thoughts; gone. The only thing left, is the feeling of the soft hair gliding all over; Over my wrists, arms, legs, and my chest. As the feeling of the bristles dissipate, The feeling of cold paint drips down my body. From my wrists, arms, legs, and my chest. Red paint trickles slowly. I can no longer feel the brush in my hand. I stare down at my body, My skin has turned red, and darkness comes in. In an instant, my once bright white canvas turns black with drips of red.
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Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 12:14 AM UTC
My Body is A Canvas
Slowly, the brush caresses my skin. The bristles feel soft and comforting as they slide across my wrist. Electricity surges throughout my body, the crying finally ceases, the bad thoughts; gone. The only thing left, is the feeling of the soft hair gliding all over; Over my wrists, arms, legs, and my chest. As the feeling of the bristles dissipate, The feeling of cold paint drips down my body. From my wrists, arms, legs, and my chest. Red paint trickles slowly. I can no longer feel the brush in my hand. I stare down at my body, My skin has turned red, and darkness comes in. In an instant, my once bright white canvas turns black with drips of red.
#suicide#cutting#self#harm#sad#pain#depressed#art#painting
drew-vincent
Written by
drew-vincent
23/Gender Fluid/American
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 12:14 AM UTC
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