deepundergroundpoetry.com
Artist
i, used to be such a beautiful artist,
Only in the worst of ways.
I could let the love from my body bleed red onto any canvas, even if the canvas was my own two wrists.
I, was such a beautiful artist and sometimes I find myself afraid that I will never again be that great.
And the ache to let the love bleed red from my wrists grows so strong.
But then I remember how far I have come from it all, and I refuse to go back.
Instead, I will let the love bleed red onto pages, and my wrists will remain untouched.
Because I am still a beautiful artist, only now,
I am so much stronger.
Only in the worst of ways.
I could let the love from my body bleed red onto any canvas, even if the canvas was my own two wrists.
I, was such a beautiful artist and sometimes I find myself afraid that I will never again be that great.
And the ache to let the love bleed red from my wrists grows so strong.
But then I remember how far I have come from it all, and I refuse to go back.
Instead, I will let the love bleed red onto pages, and my wrists will remain untouched.
Because I am still a beautiful artist, only now,
I am so much stronger.
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