The Painter

The madness on their eyes
and the blood on their hands;
That disgusting grin
which wont leave their mouths
and that sad sadness
that sleeps in their chests;
Their legs, that hardly move
as they approach their deaths;
On these rivers of tears
there,
is where I find myself!


Using their emotions

just altering their shape
I put them all on the spread canvas
I paint them all, black and red!
With a brush made of my hair
and colors that come from my chest
I speak softly to that blank page–
I whisper to it…
Using the skin from my hands,
and the blood from my veins–
The blood that drips
from my shaking hands.

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4 thoughts on “The Painter

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