Pain(t) me

Your words are your brush

And I am your canvas

You make sweeping motions

And cut me open

Pressing hard

Cutting deeper

My words bleed red

Stained paper

Freshly gouged flesh

In the shapes and sounds

Of your animosity

Beg of me your muse

Skin deep

Paper thin

Slices of ice cold hearts

Blended a dark purple

But I like the hurt

So paint me with your insanity

Dripped tastelessly in agony

And hang me out to dry

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3 thoughts on “Pain(t) me

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