im 16 and i love to write poetry. so many things would go unsaid if i didnt have my writing. |
THE WORDS USE TO FLOW LIKE A LONG WINDING RIVER
BUT NOW THEY ARE CROOKED AND BROKEN...
I paint a bloody picture
I paint it with a twist...
As I sit here, alone on my bed as
I cry...
Torn and helpless
Left to cry...
He came into my life
and tore it apart...
She looks in the mirror
And hates what she sees...
I paint a bloody picture I paint it with a twist I paint it with a razor-blade I paint it on my wrist and if I paint it properly A fountain will appear and in that bloody fountain my troubles all disappear |
Everything i look at seems to die so when i look in the mirror why dont i? |
Someone once asked me what I would do if I knew I was dying; i said, "I'd smile"....and guess what?...im smiling |