Born an artist
Drawing on whatever I could reach
Painting all the colours I could make
Time going by making me older
My most pride and joy
Turning against me
My paintbrush turned to tissues
My eraser turned to bandaids  
My pencil turned to a blade
My skin the perfect canvas
My wrist the perfect paper
Now my books plain
My walls white
Mind empty
All is left is the art piece on my arm