The colour red drips like paint down the snow white canvas that is my arm;
the thin silver thread held between finger and thumb has brought a sense of calm.

Sometimes I pretend to be a poet
Because poetry is art
And art is beautiful forever,
Whether its burned, scratched, or torn apart

And you can judge me all you want
The little lines and splatters of ink everywhere
Judge me across the window pane
Like I'm a broken masterpiece beyond repair

All these words written in the night
All these emotions painted on my skin
Admire me from afar, sweetheart
Or you'll see the darkness within

One step too close you might break me
Shatter all my endless walls
Break my skin and cut me so deep
That I may never stop the fall

One little cut is all it takes
Watch my words bleed onto the page

One little tear until it breaks
Watch my demons flood onto the stage

One little cut,
One little tear,
One broken smile,
Watch it all disappear

One little word,
One little line,
One broken poet,
Well, the end is near...

Heart beats and paper wings,
Tattered clothes and souls that sing.
Beauty that relies on grace,
Salty tears that run down the face.
Hopes that give a crown and throne,
Fears that wittle down to the bone.
Angels protecting with all their might,
Demons killing out of spite.
Making sure another dies,
She won't live to be a butterfly.

Her love was limited to words,
So was her promise to swords,
And my fate was terminated...