Poems

Art

I once knew a boy who liked to draw beautiful pictures which nobody saw. He drew by himself alone at night, locked in his bedroom out of sight.
The pictures were strange, that came with a twist. His paintings brush a razer blade and the canvas his wrist.
We lay out at night, watching the stars. When he lifted his sleeve and showed me his scars. I wasn't shocked, I knew what to do. So I roled up my sleeve and said, "I draw too."