She painted pictures with her brush,
colors so austere.
She tries to make her first stroke,
but her heart pounds with fear.
The canvas is so pure;So raw,
but it's that tempting urge,
of having all her tools so near.
She gives up.
She knows she's no artist.
That her paint's not worth her tears;
that no one will find that painting,
She knew because,
her canvas was her arm,
a shiny blade.
No picture was completed
because she knew with help,
her urge to paint could be......
Created: Jul 27, 2012KatMichelle Document Media