A constant pickaxe in my brain
slowly driving me insane
There is no strength and no pride
as I slowly rot inside
My arms are sore, worse than before
but I only need it once more
Across my arm, the blade glides
Opening my arm, but my feelings it hides
The demon appears in my art
as it tearing and pulling me apart
My canvas my only expression
my one, my only escape from
Depression
©hurtartist
H