Her Canvas

There she sits in the corner, alone

She is surrounded by nothing but blank, white, walls.

With her tear stained face, she has lost all her faith.

She will stay there with nothing to give and nothing to take

And no expression on her pale face.

 

There she sits, tool in her hand

Staring at the blank canvas, her emotions take command.

She takes a deep breath, lifting her tool to the canvas above

Making a mark and feeling no love.

 

There she sits, canvas no longer bear

Hurting like hell but she doesn't care.

She watches the mark as it spills a deep red

She will not let the pain get to her head.

She lifts up her tool and does it again.

 

There she sits, covered in blood

Sitting inside the porcelain tub.

She slowly drowns in the air around her

Filled with the absence of love.

She is overpowered and can no longer hold on

And just like that, her sanity is gone.

 

There she sits, her sanity no more

She sits and she cuts as her tears soak the floor.

She cares about nothing, she knows she is alone

So she continues to cut until she can't anymore.

 

There she sits, surrounded by blood, all her tears dry

And all her anger is gone.

The blade drops from her hand, on her feet stands

Smearing all the blood on her small hands.

She walks to the vanity and turns on the faucet

Raising her wrist to the icy cold water to wash it.

 

There she sits, in front of her red, scarred, canvas.

She stops for a second, then grabs a bandage.

She covers her wrists and it stings to the touch

She tries it again but the pain is too much.

Her tears slide down, she puts her head in her hands.

 

There she sits, longing to understand

Why her Lord and savior had dealt her this hand.

She is tired of waiting for everything to change, 

She knows no matter what, it'll always be the same.

Day after day, she will always be in pain.

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

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