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Literature Text
My soul
is a canvas
that you paint
in miserable colours.
I am your masterpiece,
molded exactly
how you want me.
With sweeps
of your brush,
you paint
dark, bruising half-moons
under my eyes.
My once-happy expression
turns to exhaustion.
You draw
with the dainty brush of laughter
tears
that run silently down my cheeks
like raindrops.
They drip off my chin
and through my fingers.
I feel like my last hope
falls with them.
You use your palms
and your fists
to smear huge bruises
down my body.
The ugly purple paint
is all over your hands
like a murder victim's blood,
but no one
can see it.
The sick, evil words
that come out of your mouth
paint thin red lines
on my arms and my wrists
that drip with
misery and pain.
The narrow streams
are nothing
compared to what I feel inside.
My soul
is a canvas
that you paint
with your twisted colours.
I don't know
how much more of this
I can take.
I just randomly thought of this and decided to write it down. Enjoy!
© 2013 - 2024 OpalChariot
Comments15
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Opal!!!!!!!!!!!!1 LET ME THIS IN A PROJECT WE'RE DOING IN HONORS ENGLISH CLASS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!