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The Artist
November 18, 2013
She likes to draw pretty pictures
More and more as time goes by.
She decorates her canvas
Until her paint runs dry.
She never told a soul
Of the pain that she was in,
But maintained a hollow smile
In a fight she couldn’t win.
They thought that she was perfect
With the carefree way she lived.
No one cared or noticed
The blood-red lines she hid.
She likes to draw pretty pictures
Everyday and then again,
But her paintbrush is a razor
And the canvas is her skin.
© Anonymous
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