my skin was once a clear canvas, with beautiful thoughts, ideas, and creations but as my mind grew darker into the nights
i cried alone and I started to think about the endless possibilities,
i started to realize that my life was just an illusion and in reality we're all just broken, alone, and looking for someone to fix us.
but no one could fix me; i couldn't even fix myself
so i picked up that blade and started to draw pictures on that canvas
that was once so beautiful
and i didn't stop.
now it is now filled
with tragic pictures
from the nights
i understood life
at it's worst