artwork

it's a sad poem, my english teacher said it was my best. i hope you like it.

i'm just another face in the crowd,

no one would notice.

no matter how loud i scream,

i'm not to be heard.

i'm not to be seen,

not to be remembered.

not to be wanted,

the stitches who are as silent as a dead persons cries

 are more meaningful than my cries of pain.

motionless and stiff has more breath than the ones

i take. my oxygen to be cut off is what i plead for

but never one to be taken for. i plead for death, plead for

a way out. but i'm never heard. why can't that angel of dark bring

it upon me years of suffering and hope because maybe then

i would be able to feel.

mentally i have so much pain but my body is numb,

i don't feel the cuts that i impale into this bag of bones

covered in a canva. i'm an artist i claim, i am an

entertainer. i etertain the Gods of Hell by painting such

beautiful artwork. i'll buy it for a million people would cry,

i'd pay to have it stop. no one understands my beauty,

i have an eye for thou beautiful art in these priceless 

scars.

Author's Note

ignore gramma or spelling issues, if someone is to read this please tell me what you think.