His body
A canvass of beauty
Painted all the faults
Made by anger
And mistakes
Molded by pain
Shaped by sorrows
But completely loved by the painter.

Even when the rain falls,
Even if the sun rays struck my skin
My beloved ink,
So red and dull
My blood continues to run
Down to my veins,
And spurts out from my naked wrists
My slit wrists.
My beautiful painting,
Adorned with love
Full of hatred for humanity
Torn between fantasy and reality
As the leaves fall down
During summer time
All the fallen leaves
Fly so high
Up above the clouds
By the whisper of gusty winds.