-This is dedicated to everybody who has ever cut themselves. It was written as I was doing just that.-
Upon her easel she begins to paint
With her favorite brush
She feels her pain begin to vanish
She feels the familiar rush
Another masterpiece is created
As crimson red begins to flow
It drips down upon the place where
Her other artworks show
The brush is replaced, hidden
And with a sigh she dries the blood
Putting on a smile she walks out the door
While her emotions continue to flood
The relief she feels is enough
For her to not care about the scars she makes
She will come back again and again
To give, in return for what she takes
Lauren Renee'
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-painter-5/
