This canvas so pale,
is so frail and so jailed,
inside a mind that screams
and wails.
The canvas is perfect,
besides old scars,
that I choose to reopen
and enjoy the stars;
that I feel in my head
when the canvas turns red,
such a stark contrast
between living and dead.
I don't know why I can't stop slicing,
I need the rush to feel okay.
I don't know why the rush keeps climbing,
I need it more every day.
*Shining scarlet kisses...
who am I to keep them away?*
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 10:28 AM UTC
This canvas so pale,
is so frail and so jailed,
inside a mind that screams
and wails.
The canvas is perfect,
besides old scars,
that I choose to reopen
and enjoy the stars;
that I feel in my head
when the canvas turns red,
such a stark contrast
between living and dead.
I don't know why I can't stop slicing,
I need the rush to feel okay.
I don't know why the rush keeps climbing,
I need it more every day.
*Shining scarlet kisses...
who am I to keep them away?*
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