I can’t draw anything.
Ever since I stopped painting you I seem to have lost my talent.
I spent three hours on a blank canvas trying to find my inspiration.
Bad strokes make out bad lines,
I want to die.
Why do I have to live?
**** this isn’t a poem,
It’s a cry for help.
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 11:26 PM UTC
I can’t draw anything.
Ever since I stopped painting you I seem to have lost my talent.
I spent three hours on a blank canvas trying to find my inspiration.
Bad strokes make out bad lines,
I want to die.
Why do I have to live?
**** this isn’t a poem,
It’s a cry for help.
