an invisible canvas
a silver paintbrush runs along a soft canvas
leaving red waves in its wake
trading in pain for euphoric numbness
chasing away the voices with an artistic flair
when the sun rises the canvas is hidden
the next sunset will bring the artist back to the studio
sadly her work wont be recognized until after death
👁 4💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
If you or someone you know is struggling, you are not alone.
988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline — call or text 988, 24/7. Crisis Text Line — text HELLO to 741741.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
Comments are closed for this poem.