A wall is a canvas
For my twisted thoughts to paint themselves
Into scenes of misery
As I lie there, staring blankly
I’m an artist
Painting portraits of depression
In the emptiness of my mind
Words find it in themselves to float around
In the empty plain of my head
Weaving stories of guilt and sorrow
In my mind I write epics,
Telling the tale of my own demise
An Odyssey, and I an Odysseus
But destined never to reach safe shore
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 12:33 AM UTC
A wall is a canvas
For my twisted thoughts to paint themselves
Into scenes of misery
As I lie there, staring blankly
I’m an artist
Painting portraits of depression
In the emptiness of my mind
Words find it in themselves to float around
In the empty plain of my head
Weaving stories of guilt and sorrow
In my mind I write epics,
Telling the tale of my own demise
An Odyssey, and I an Odysseus
But destined never to reach safe shore
I write poetry mostly when I'm in a bad place, whoops.
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