Indeed, I am an artist.
I carve away each day.
A beautiful masterpiece
only meant for my sight.
A blade is my instrument.
My skin is my canvas.
The blood that spills
offers an odd satisfaction.
Indeed, I am an artist.
Lacking nothing of a painter.
Lacking nothing of a creator.
Lacking nothing of an offender.
I carve on the wrong canvas
but I still remain an artist.
Creating the wrong type of art.
But I am an artist Indeed.
©
P