She wanted to turn her pain into art
So she decided her skin was a canvas
But the brush was too sharp
And the lines were too deep
So red paint soaked through
And there was nothing other than tragedy
For the art was not beautiful
Like sunsets and flowers
It was harsh and sad
Even though the lines were clean
It left a mess on the bathroom floor
And the paint stained her arms
And she sat peacefully watching
The masterpiece she created
Be later hidden by long sleeves