poetry ;; typical_writers

the painter. | edited

To everyone that self harms, has depression or needs love...

•The Painter•

But it's okay, in the end she got her wish.

All the sadness went away in a fast swish.
__________________________

I'm really not all right.

You keep me up at night.

I can't sleep, because I know what might happen to you.

You might cut too deep, and leave too soon.

I know you say your 2 weeks clean.

But in my mind it doesn't change a thing.

I still worry cause I know your depressed.

I know how you think, your minds a mess.

I'm scared you'll finally give up and leave this world.

Leave all the people who said it was a phase;

They told you, you would change your ways.

Now I never sleep and I'm always up.

Because you finally decided,

you ran out of luck.

You took those pills and laid down in your bed.

Humming a soft melody in your head.

Then you left the world; when nobody was ready.

The girls who stared at your scars,
The adults who underestimated your abilities.

All came to your funeral, never knowing you would ever leave.

They all gave you roses, and cried soft tears.

They regretted not helping, and calling you a queer.

Everybody you though wouldn't miss you, all wished you were still here.

But it's okay, in the end she got her wish.

All the sadness went away in a fast swish.

As she took her last pill, and drifted to sleep.

Now the people that went to her funeral, became artists too.

Because they regretted not helping her, it was a shame for you.

She painted when the sadness was overwhelming.

She was the best painter anyone had seen.

But now she's gone and she'll never paint again.

Because painting caused her life; they used to wonder when.

When would she paint so much it all had to end?

They got their answer and she got her wish.

Killing the sadness with one fast swish.

[Written by: Cassidy Trent/ Me]