My own Canvas

Meaningless and hollow
Every corner is shallow
Plain white and worthless
No trace of happiness
Invisible portrait are seen merely by me
For the meaning is hidden secretly
I tried to make some drafts on it
Yet these sketches don't precisely fit
Every stroke I made is vain
I tried to make it up but it's just plain
I want to put some hues on my art
That will take part of my heart
But there're no colors existing
But how? If I got nothing
Only this crimson red running in my vein
The only color that could be used as paint
So I sliced my wrist gently
To represent the art deep in me
Painful but it was the mere way
To create an art that drawn inside
Ready to unleashed hurt that haunts me everyday
Finally I could create an abstract that I can't no longer hide