I saved each of our moments in my memory
We were picturesque, the world could only envy
But sad to say, I had to close the gallery
Of paintings of our love 'cause you gave up on me...
By the time we're over, I became an artist
Through your love, touches and kisses I badly miss
With red ink, I'll write your name as my masterpiece
My pen is a blade and my paper is my wrist...
If only I could write on my back, oh I would
I'd write our fairy tale told so painfully good
Pale skin drenched in red blood, so monochromatic
Yet the redness is sweet, the pain is ecstatic
What? You want us back? Oh, you have to stop kidding
You'll just be a flaw to myself, my own painting
And besides, would you even touch my cold, pale skin,
Pull my slitted wrists and embrace my frame so thin?
The words you've broken became the ink to my quills
Now, that the canvas is full, I'll miss how pain feels
Dear, look at me now, I'm a lovely piece of art
Made from the fine strokes of my bleeding flesh and heart...
©fox_ache
F