The Artist of the Night

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A poem about how blood can seem like an art to many.

Submitted: December 18, 2011

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Submitted: December 18, 2011

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You create a masterpiece,
When the moon is hanging high,
Your agony is your inspiration,
And it fuels the tears you cry. 

The razor is your paintbrush,
Body art is your specialty,
Your colour choice is always red,
The shade which blurs your reality. 

You are one of the many Artists,
Inspired by their individual sorrows,
Fuelled by the same sufferance,
Mutual feelings of being hollow. 

Some are bolder than others,
And meet their demise with their work,
With similar falls to the end,
Death brought with a satisfied smirk. 

Grasping your stained paintbrush,
Will you join the fallen hall of fame?
They found piece with their masterpieces,
Your fate may be the same. 

 


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