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Bracelets were invented for a reason.To hide the skin beneath.
That little secret we all want to keep hidden.Lethal drawings on our skin.
Innocent little lines at first.But everything must get deeper.
Burning the pages of your own story.Because you don't want to see anymore.
Smelling the blood on yourself.Sinking slowly into the floorboards.
Peacefully and silently washed away.Nobody can hear you scream inside your head.
Talking backwards.So no one can see through your lies.
Crippled things can be pretty.In their own way.
Telling the truth in your own way.How far you really have sunk.
Your pit of despair is lined with flowers.Withering and dying in the dead wind.
Losing who you th0ught would last.Even people fade like burning paper.
Telling a story in your own way.Fairytales are cruel sugar coated things.
Painting the sky in your colors.Shining in the darkness cast by others.
How simple the lines are.Clearly marking the start and finish.
Only this time the truth is clear for everybody.Your choice of canvas for your art is skin.
