The Death of Art
I was born with ink coursing through these veins - Born to cut myself and display it.
Born to spill these words onto the sky because this world won't hear me say it.
My art was birthed through pain, made from rain and blood and tears. From splintered bones, nights alone and scars earned through the years.
But then She of flawless form came to be
in my arms and melt with me.
She drained the ink from me and cleaned my blood from the street,
put it back in my heart and gave it reason to beat.
She gave me a real name and she gave me a pair of wings.
She gave me the strength not to use them to fly from things.
She pulled down the rain and washed away the dirt.
She made me smile when all I could feel was hurt.
She scared away the spirits that had haunted my lips.
She stitched my heart and choked my art, but that's ok.
I was never really that good anyway.
~<3~I think I'll write about her.~<3~
Born to spill these words onto the sky because this world won't hear me say it.
My art was birthed through pain, made from rain and blood and tears. From splintered bones, nights alone and scars earned through the years.
But then She of flawless form came to be
in my arms and melt with me.
She drained the ink from me and cleaned my blood from the street,
put it back in my heart and gave it reason to beat.
She gave me a real name and she gave me a pair of wings.
She gave me the strength not to use them to fly from things.
She pulled down the rain and washed away the dirt.
She made me smile when all I could feel was hurt.
She scared away the spirits that had haunted my lips.
She stitched my heart and choked my art, but that's ok.
I was never really that good anyway.
~<3~I think I'll write about her.~<3~