My skin is my canvas
But instead of paint
I use pain
Instead of a paintbrush
I use a blade
The pain of what they say to my face
One graceful stroke
The pain of what they say behind my back
Two graceful strokes
The pain of my own thoughts
Three less graceful strokes
The pain of my past
Four not so graceful strokes
The pain of how I scare people away
Five ugly strokes
The pain of feeling alone, not in a crowd alone, just alone
Six disgusting strokes
The more pain I feel,
The more paint I leak
The more disgusted I become;
I now scare myself
But my blood still slowly trickles out
And just like paint, it can be washed away
Nothing too deep to leave a scar,
But deep enough to see my paint
To let the pain trickle out, with the paint
Until the pain starts again
And until I start painting, again
Jan 26, 2018
Jan 26, 2018 at 1:11 AM UTC
My skin is my canvas
But instead of paint
I use pain
Instead of a paintbrush
I use a blade
The pain of what they say to my face
One graceful stroke
The pain of what they say behind my back
Two graceful strokes
The pain of my own thoughts
Three less graceful strokes
The pain of my past
Four not so graceful strokes
The pain of how I scare people away
Five ugly strokes
The pain of feeling alone, not in a crowd alone, just alone
Six disgusting strokes
The more pain I feel,
The more paint I leak
The more disgusted I become;
I now scare myself
But my blood still slowly trickles out
And just like paint, it can be washed away
Nothing too deep to leave a scar,
But deep enough to see my paint
To let the pain trickle out, with the paint
Until the pain starts again
And until I start painting, again