A letter from death
I wait for her every night
Just so she can paint pretty pictures
Every night once she sheds a tear
She pulls out that paintbrush and begin to tear
She’s had this canvas for about 16 years
Once clean white and pure untouched and untorn
Now marked and colored in my favorite shade
See, her skin became her canvas
And daddy’s razor become her paintbrush
Sketching strokes of what seemed like ‘read between the lines’
Her drawings soon colored in only a blood red.
She stopped panting that day
Because doctors pronounced her dead
Funny how she thinks she’s free from hell
When really i lured her right into my death cell
Yours Truly
Death
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 6:11 AM UTC
A letter from death
I wait for her every night
Just so she can paint pretty pictures
Every night once she sheds a tear
She pulls out that paintbrush and begin to tear
She’s had this canvas for about 16 years
Once clean white and pure untouched and untorn
Now marked and colored in my favorite shade
See, her skin became her canvas
And daddy’s razor become her paintbrush
Sketching strokes of what seemed like ‘read between the lines’
Her drawings soon colored in only a blood red.
She stopped panting that day
Because doctors pronounced her dead
Funny how she thinks she’s free from hell
When really i lured her right into my death cell
Yours Truly
Death
